Stolen Smile
by otherhawk
Summary: AU What if Terry and Tess' relationship was a little bit different? What if things changed while Danny was in prison?
1. The Benedict Job

**A/N: On the ****fifth day of our advent calendar I bring to you an admittedly very short chapter of a brand new multichapter fic! Happy Christmas.**

**A/N2: An angsty AU of the Benedict job. Because there can never be too many of those, right? This is going to be a number of chapters long. Don't ask what number though. More than ten, less than a million.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Ocean's 11 franchise.**

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><p>10th July 2001<p>

"This is just the best part of my day," Linus said with a sigh, and Rusty glanced at him with a vague feeling of exasperation. He'd had his doubts when Danny had said that their new recruit was Bobby and Molly's son, though so far the kid had proved useful enough. That should be all that he cared about, but unfortunately Linus also seemed too easily distracted, too inclined to lose focus. He'd be happier if he thought the kid understood how bad things could get.

Linus was still staring at the stairs with a rapt, moonish expression, and shaking his head, Rusty looked over to see the girl who had apparently captured Linus' attention.

The world stopped.

As Tess walked down the stairs, Rusty distantly realised that he had forgotten how to breathe.

Tess. Here. With _Benedict._

Later, he was astonished that he had the presence of mind to duck out of sight. He _had _to though. After all, the last time he'd seen her...well, safe to say she wasn't going to be pleased to see him.

He watched her walk past and his attention was caught by the dress she was wearing, the shoes. Fuck, even the way her hair was styled was wrong. The dress was at least a couple of inches shorter than anything he'd ever seen her in, and the _colour. _His mouth was a thin line. None of this was her.

She'd been dressed to impress. Not quite trashy, he wouldn't go that far. At least not _cheap _and trashy. But Tess was all about the elegant and the understated, and right now, dressed up like a piece of overt and expensive decoration, she looked awkward and uncertain and his heart ached.

Someone else's taste and Rusty didn't have to guess whose. She walked onto the casino floor and she practically matched the decor.

Truthfully, there wasn't much need for him to stay out of sight. Tess' eyes were fixed vacantly on a point somewhere in the middle distance, and she never looked round. Never so much as glanced at another human being.

He'd seen her look like that before. Vacant. Disconnected. Like nothing was real to her except the pain living in her head.

The last time he'd seen her she'd been furious, but she hadn't been like _this. _God, what had happened? He should've watched her more closely. Should've found a way.

"I still don't know if we can use her," Linus said and Rusty's heart twisted at the thought and Linus was suddenly watching him intently. "Actually, I haven't even caught her name?"

There was a question there.

Rusty chose not to answer it.

"See you later, Linus," he said and the dismissal was pointed. "I've got some things to take care of."

He ignored the noise of strangled frustration the kid made. If necessary he'd make it up to him later. Right now there were more important things to do. Like tailing Tess.

As he ran upstairs to find an inconspicuous disguise, he wondered what he thought he was _doing. _Wondered if maybe he should be telling Danny that Tess was here. Wondering if maybe he should be telling Danny _everything._

Wasn't the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Hell, right from the first time he'd seen Danny sitting down at that card game, the guilt had been overwhelming. It was almost surprising that he was able to look Danny in the eyes.

He knew what Danny would say. Could imagine the look on Danny's face if...when?..._if _Danny ever found out exactly what Rusty had been hiding from him.

More than that; he owed Tess. He had to know what was going on before he did anything. He grabbed the wig he'd been planning on using for the doctor, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and an uninspiring suit. Nothing Tess would associate with him.

Somehow he managed to get ready without ever meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Thing was, Danny already had to know, didn't he? About Tess anyway. About Benedict. Not about Rusty, obviously, at least he didn't think so. He didn't recollect Danny trying to kill him lately, so it was safe to say Danny didn't know the whole story.

So Danny knew what? Maybe just that Tess was with Benedict. That would explain why _this _job.

Maybe it would also explain some of the looks that Danny had been giving him. Perhaps it was just his guilty conscience that whispered that Danny's eyes were filled with doubt.

His fingers rubbed around his mouth distractedly. Danny's motives could be laid aside for now. Right now he had to focus on Tess and Benedict

He watched them through dinner and he didn't like what he saw. Not one bit. Maybe it would've looked like a normal dinner to the casual observer – certainly no one else seemed to notice anything wrong – but Rusty saw Terry ordering Tess around and Tess meekly submitting. He saw Terry reach across the table and grab Tess' hand, as though in warning, and fury snarled through him, wild and untameable and oh so familiar.

Seemed like she saw him then. For a moment. Certainly she turned round and stared, and he looked away quickly, hoping his disguise held, hoping she didn't give him away, because Terry having reason to notice him now wouldn't help anything.

With every frightened look, every nervous flinch, every last second of cowed and crushed, the urge to run across the restaurant and start punching grew stronger and stronger.

Safe to say Danny didn't know about _this. _

He sat in the restaurant for a long time after they'd left, staring blankly into a cup of coffee. What should he have done? What the hell _could _he have done? Cold reason told him that there was nothing. Benedict's behaviour might be odious, but publicly objecting in the middle of the Bellagio...well, it might not be the smartest move he'd ever made.

All he could do was wait and watch and try not to think about how much he hated that look of fear in her eyes.

He sighed, rubbing at his mouth. Right now he didn't want to go back to see the others. For a start, he didn't want to have to look Danny in the eyes and lie to him. But more than that, being around that many people...these days it was _exhausting._

Nah, he'd go for a walk. Clear his head.

Think about how badly he'd failed.


	2. Two years earlier

**A/N: And here is the 10th door of our Advent Calendar! Hope you like it! Wasn't the story I was planning on posting, but we'll get to that one later. :)**

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><p>January 16th 1999<p>

It started, as so many things did, with a late night phone call.

Rusty had been living in San Francisco for the past couple of months, seeing a corporate lawyer casually and an art dealer professionally, and every now and then he thought that maybe it should be the other way around.

On this particular night he'd taken the lawyer – Jeremy – to the movies where he'd discovered that Jeremy didn't like Hitchcock. That might just be a dealbreaker. Still, they'd gone back to his place for a lazy dinner on the balcony and a lazier night atop the sheets on his bed, the windows open and the moonlight and the breeze coming in over the bay, and he'd fallen asleep warm and sated and comfortable and almost happy, and when he'd dreamed he'd dreamed of happier times and Danny.

He was startled out of sleep by the sound of the phone ringing.

"Fuck's sake," Jeremy groaned. "Shut that thing up, can't you?"

As he reached for the phone he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. Ten past three in the morning.

No one ever called him at three in the morning because they wanted to chat. Not since Danny had gone to prison anyway.

Danny.

Cold fear crept up his spine and a thousand different often-considered worst possibilities crowded through his head all over again.

He grabbed the phone and answered it briskly. "Yeah."

There was dead silence.

"Hello?" he said, frowning.

Jeremy groaned disgruntledly and pulled a pillow over his head.

Rusty ignored him, all his attention on the phone, and he thought he could hear someone breathing, got an impression of misery and distress.

"Who's there?" he asked, and his voice was as gentle as he could make it.

"Rusty?" The voice was choked and broken but Rusty recognised it at once.

"Tess?" he said, sitting up, instantly alert. "Tess, what's happened?"

There was a gasp. "I'm sorry," she moaned and the phone went dead.

He stared down at it for a frozen second, and then he was checking the number.

Landline. He blessed the fact that Tess didn't like cellphones. Area code suggested Philadelphia and that was nothing he hadn't already known.

He hit redial and listened intently, and the phone rang out and he wasn't surprised. Wasn't going to be that easy. He got out of bed and dressed quickly.

"Where are you going?" Jeremy asked sleepily.

"Away," Rusty said shortly. "Let yourself out. You can help yourself to anything around." Anything being anything. Instinctively, he felt it was unlikely he'd be back.

He left quickly, grabbing the overnight bag he always kept packed and ready and heading out to his car.

The worry was racing through him. Tess was in trouble, that much was obvious and that was unexpected. Tess just didn't get into the sort of trouble that he was used to. And no matter that she hadn't actually asked him, he had to help her. Not just for Danny's sake.

He drove to the airport. If he caught the first flight he could be in Philadelphia by late morning. He could only hope that he was in time.

He called Livingston from the departure lounge.

"It's half four in the morning," Livingston announced sleepily.

"Not what I need to know right now," Rusty said with a grin.

"I'm going to get you a watch for Christmas," Livingston told him with a sigh. "So you can try calling at civilised times."

"You think I'm civilised?" Rusty shot back. "I need a number traced. Fast as possible."

Livingston sighed again. "Tell me. I'll text you back in a half hour. That fast enough?"

Not like he could get to Philadelphia before that anyway. So it would have to be. "Here's hoping," he said quietly and he kept hearing Tess' voice in his head. She hadn't sounded that distraught and desperate when he'd spoken to her after Danny went to prison. "Thanks, Livingston." He gave him the number and hung up.

He drank coffee after coffee and he tried calling Tess back again but the phone just rang out.

Perhaps he should try and contact Danny. If Tess was in trouble, Danny would want to know immediately. And if Danny knew Rusty had kept him out of the loop...well, Rusty wouldn't blame him for being angry. Only trouble was, even with the little that Rusty knew, there was no way that Danny would be content to wait in prison knowing that Tess might be in trouble. No, he had to find out what was going on first, then he could figure out what and how to tell Danny.

That was the right decision. And it still didn't sit well with him.

The flight to Philly had to be one of the longest of his life.

Livingston came through, like he always did, but the information wasn't of much immediate use. A payphone at a busy junction. He looked round the less-than-salubrious neighbourhood and wondered. What would Tess even be doing here? He couldn't begin to guess.

Luckily this wasn't his only lead.

He'd kept himself aware of Tess' movements in the time immediately after Danny. Enough to be aware that she'd moved to Philadelphia, that she'd found a job and an apartment, that she was settled and taking care of herself.

Now, he thought maybe he should have kept a closer eye on her.

The address he had for her was out of date. The guy that answered the door told him that much. Apparently he'd been living there a year and he had no idea who'd had the apartment before him.

Still, he had the job, and he walked into the gallery hoping to see her, hoping that she'd tell him it was all a misunderstanding, that she was fine.

There was no sign of her. But the woman who was there seemed pleased to see him.

He smiled dazzlingly as she looked her up and down.

"Well, hi there," she breathed. "I'm Angelica. Can I help you with anything? Anything at all."

"Nice to meet you, Angelica," he said, letting the lazy flirt ripple through his voice. Whatever it took. "I'm looking for Tess. I think she works here."

"Tess?" Her nose wrinkled. "Tess Halliday, you mean?"

She'd gone back to using her maiden name. He wasn't surprised, but still he felt the pain on Danny's behalf. "That's right, yes."

"She quit," Angelica said with a shrug. "Nine months back."

Mmm. That was...surprising. "She find a new job?" he asked casually.

She shrugged again. "Don't think so. Think she just quit before she was fired."

Fired? _Tess? _That was...that sounded absolutely unbelievable. "What makes you say that?" he asked, head tilted to one side, giving her every inch of his attention.

She basked in it, leaning forwards confidentially. "Well, when she first started working here she was great, you know? Fit in fine, brilliant with the customers...everyone liked her."

He nodded, urging her to go on. That sounded like Tess. She'd always been good at her job. She'd always loved it, always wanted to carry on working even though Danny could have effortlessly supported her in any style she fancied. And he'd be willing to bet a year's supply of chocolate that she'd never even mentioned the break up to her colleagues. "So what happened?"

"Well," she said, stepping even closer to him. "A year ago...or maybe a little longer, I guess...she started to change. She stopped going out with us after work, she stopped chatting to the customers, she stopped smiling. She just got really rude and stand offish, you know? Like she thought she was better than everyone else. She had some new man, she said once. Guess that was enough for her."

Mmm. None of this sounded like Tess. "So then she just quit?" he asked unconcernedly.

"Oh, it got worse first of all," she told him gleefully. "She started showing up late, when she bothered showing up at all. A lot of days she just called in sick. And then she started wearing these stupid dark glasses all the time. Most of us figured she had a problem." She dropped into a whisper. "A _drinking _problem," she added. "Or something worse even. One time, I caught her popping pills in the restroom. She _said _it was for a headache but I don't know...she'd thrown up too. If it was a headache, it must have been some hangover." She giggled slightly, and immediately schooled her expression into something pious and concerned. "Of course, it's all a terrible shame. It's a _sickness_, really. I hope she's found some help."

Rusty didn't think she had. He also seriously doubted that Tess was in the kind of trouble Angelica assumed. Of course, it was always _possible..._

Wasn't the only thing that was possible. An awful idea was itching at the back of his mind, screaming through his every thought. He bit the inside of his mouth hard and told himself he was overreacting. Jumping to conclusions. Just because once upon a time he'd been in that position, hurt and hiding, didn't mean...well, it didn't mean anything.

Still. He needed to talk to her. He needed to talk to her soon.

And the question remained; should he tell Danny? He just didn't _know._

He smiled brightly at Angelica. "I wonder," he said softly. "If you might have a forwarding address for Tess?"


	3. The Benedict Job 2

**A/N: Sorry, sorry...this idea of InSilva's is wonderful up until the point where we're both away on the same day! I thought I'd be able to get online, but I was wrong. But here is door 18! I hope you enjoy! **

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><p>10th July 2001<p>

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><p>Terry really was very good to her. He cared about her, he was patient and tolerant and forgiving. He was a good man. Better than she deserved.<p>

There were always little things she was doing to upset him. Things that were stupid or gauche or clumsy that made him look at her with that air of weary disappointment. Like he'd expected better but couldn't be truly surprised that he hadn't got it.

That look made her feel about two inches tall.

He very rarely corrected her in public, and she was grateful for that. Behind closed doors and he'd tell her exactly how much she'd embarrassed him. He was an important man and she was his girlfriend - and maybe one day soon if she was lucky and didn't mess up she'd be his wife – and everything she did reflected on him. She should know better.

She was grateful for the correction, really she was. After all, hadn't she proved time and time again that her own judgement was useless? Terry was good to her. Good for her. And didn't he deserve a little something back in return?

Like at dinner tonight. That had gone wrong from the start and it had been all her fault.

She'd been late and that was stupid of her. She didn't even know _why. _She'd found a pair of earrings at the bottom of an old purse, and she'd just started crying like she'd never stop, her fist clenched so tight around them that they'd etched an imprint into her palm, her sobs silent and stifled and painful.

By the time she'd finally managed to force herself to calm down, she'd barely had time to make herself presentable, and her face had been so blotchy that she'd had to layer her make-up on extra thick so that Terry wouldn't see.

(_She remembered a gentle hand against her cheek, the make-up being wiped away tenderly...no! She didn't want to remember. That had never happened.)_

Terry looked up at her disapprovingly when she walked in, and she lowered her head, immediately ashamed. He was a busy man and he took time out of his work every day to eat dinner with her. The least she could do was be on time. Anything else was disrespectful. Especially when she did nothing but sit around all day anyway.

"You're late," he remarked coldly.

"I'm sorry, Terry," she said, and she waited by her seat until he nodded for her to sit down.

He looked her over quickly. "You're wearing too much make-up again, Tess," he commented with a weary sigh. "We've talked about this. When I'm out with you I want people to know that I'm having dinner with my girlfriend. _Not _a call girl." He permitted himself a short laugh at his own joke.

Oh, God, was it really that bad? Mortified, she remembered feeling like people were looking at her. That blond boy by the stairs...was _that _what they'd all been thinking? She wanted to rush to the ladies' room and wash it all off. "I'm sorry," she said again, her voice trembling slightly.

Terry reached across the table and patted her hand graciously and startled, she struggled not to jump. "That's alright, Tess. Just try to remember for the future."

She would, and she nodded gratefully, the lump in her throat making it too painful to speak.

The waiter came over and looked at Terry, waiting for instructions. By now, none of them even glanced at her. As far as Terry's staff were concerned, she was invisible. An extension of Terry's will. There was a time when that would have bothered her, she knew. Now she couldn't summon up the energy to care and she was comforted by the anonymity. She didn't have to be herself, she was just Terry's girlfriend.

"Steak, extra rare, and the garden salad," Terry ordered decisively, snapping the menu shut.

After the waiter had left, Tess tried not to look at Terry. Normally he at least asked her what she wanted to eat. And she'd liked the look of the chicken en croute. She'd wanted something substantial anyway.

He caught her expression and smiled apologetically. "I thought you would prefer the salad. It's fight night soon, and the television cameras will be everywhere. You know I don't mind, but I thought you would prefer not to look fat on national TV."

Oh. He was just looking out for her. That really shouldn't irritate her as much as it did. She bit her lip and counted to ten, and she smiled prettily and said nothing.

Dinner continued and she listened to Terry talk and contributed as much as she felt able, and she tried her best to block out the rest of the world.

For a while everything seemed better. Terry seemed pleased with her, and she relaxed a little, basking in the approval.

She should have known she'd make a mistake if she relaxed. Terry was talking about a Picasso that Graham Taylor, the man who'd taken over from her as curator, had recommended he buy, and he'd objected to the price.

"It sounds like a good deal to me," she said, frowning. The painting was worth twice that, she _knew _it.

Terry stopped talking, his knife stabbing into his steak and the blood flowed over his plate. "I'm sorry?" he said, his smile tight and polite.

She shrank back instinctively. "I only meant..." she trailed off, shaking her head, her mouth working furiously, and she didn't even know what she'd meant.

"No, please continue," Terry pressed on mercilessly. "Please tell me how I should be running my business."

She couldn't speak. She couldn't say a word and she fumbled with the cutlery in her hands, dropping her fork and it clattered against her plate, over loud. "I...sorry...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

The restaurant felt far too warm suddenly and her necklace felt too tight and too heavy, choking her. Felt like everyone was watching her.

Terry reached across the table again, his hand gripping her wrist lightly. "Don't make a scene, Tess," he said, sounding like he was at the very edge of his patience.

She nodded quickly and he released her and she buried her hands under the table, twisting her fingers through the napkin, ripping it to shreds.

Someone was staring at her, she dimly realised. The man two tables over. She saw him out of the corner of her eye and for a moment she thought...but when she turned round he was no one she knew, and as she watched, he adjusted his glasses and went back to studying the wine list.

Terry followed her gaze and his mouth twisted coldly. "Someone you know?"

"No," she denied, instant and truthful, and Terry turned to stare at her, his eyes fixed on her face, open and contemptuous and she flushed. "For a moment I thought...but I was wrong."

"You _thought,_" he repeated, his lip curled. "Your ex husband, perhaps?"

"No," she said, shaking her head frantically. Not Danny.

"An old lover?" he suggested instead.

"No," she said again, her voice weaker this time, and she remembered a warm night and her arms wrapped around his neck, her mouth pressed against his, and she felt the tears of shame prickling her eyes.

"I see," he said slowly, and he looked for a long time at the man at the other table, like he was committing him to memory. Mercifully, the man didn't glance their way again. "Well, let us see if we can conclude our evening without your...past...raising its head again, mmm?"

She nodded thankfully and really, she was being ridiculous here. Just overreacting because of...just overreacting. Terry hadn't even raised his voice this time. And it was natural for men to be jealous, wasn't it? She knew that. Just that past experience frightened her and that wasn't Terry's fault. Terry was a good man.

They finished their dinner and made their way upstairs and Tess sat in front of the mirror and concentrated on removing her make-up, her jewellery. She let the earrings fall into her hand and she didn't dare glance at them.

(_Danny. Oh, Danny._)

Terry's hand fell on her shoulder heavily and she tried her best to hide the tension as he leant over and kissed her neck.

"Come," he said, pulling her up and leading her towards the bed.

She resisted. "Please, Terry. I have a headache," she demurred.

He smiled. "I'm sure I can make you forget all about it," he said, and his hands were unfastening her dress, roaming over her body with clinical precision.

"I'm not really in the mood," she tried reluctantly, her voice soft and uncertain.

"I can change that," Terry promised and his hands were gripping her arms and he was planting kisses along her jaw, nuzzling against her ear. "It's been a long day," he whispered. "And this is the perfect way to relax."

He pushed her down onto the bed, and the grip on her arms never let up for a second.

She didn't say no.

She didn't dare.

As long as she didn't say no, she could tell herself that everything was fine.

Afterwards, in the shower, she stood under the scalding water and angrily brushed away the stupid, pointless tears.

Terry really was very good to her. He was patient and tolerant and he cared for her. He was a good man. Better than she deserved.

He didn't hurt her.

He wasn't a thief.

He wasn't a murderer.

Terry was the best she could hope to find.


	4. Two years earlier 2

**A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed the holidays. No, I have nothing fic related to say.  
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><p>January 16th 1999<p>

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><p>At some point Tess knew she was going to have to get up and face the day but right now that just felt impossible.<p>

She _hurt. _She hurt so much and she couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop sniffling away, her good arm wrapped tightly around her chest, trying hopelessly to hold the pain inside.

She should at least get up and get some ice or something. Ice would make everything better. Ice and maybe a cup of coffee and she could put on fresh clothes and make-up and she would be fine and she could clean the house and go to the shop and get what she needed to make John dinner because he'd said he wanted steak tonight and if he came back and found she hadn't bothered he'd be angry again. She didn't think she could bear that again so soon.

He might _not _be angry of course. She bit her lip and scolded herself mentally. It wasn't like he was always like he was last night after all. He wasn't some monster. She remembered a time just after she'd first moved in with him...she'd let the pasta boil dry. The pan had been ruined, the kitchen filled with smoke, and there'd been no dinner on the table when John came home. She'd been so certain he'd be angry. But he'd laughed and shook his head like it didn't matter and he'd held her close and kissed her and they'd gone out for dinner and it had been good.

She wished it could be like that all the time. John said it was her fault.

If she didn't provoke him all the time, if she didn't make him angry, if she didn't let him drink...

She'd _said _he'd had enough last night, after his fourth whisky. Well, she'd suggested it at least. And then when he'd asked for another, she hadn't filled the glass up to the top.

That had been when his mood changed.

She should have been firmer, maybe. Flat out _told _him that she wasn't getting him another drink. That's what John always said she should do. At the time though, she'd been too scared. She'd thought that being polite would be the safer option.

Look what had happened.

She _always _made the wrong choice. God, what was wrong with her? She was supposed to be intelligent.

Danny used to drink whisky. In fact, he liked the same brands as John did. But she'd never seen Danny drunk. And he didn't get angry with her.

Danny...she bit her lip fiercely. She'd sworn she wouldn't think of Danny anymore. Danny was locked away in prison. Part of her past.

A little after she'd first met him, in those whirlwind early days when he was loving and affectionate and told her over and over again just how wonderful she was, she'd told John all about Danny. It had been a late night, they'd shared a pitcher of sangria under the starlight and she'd confessed about her marriage, about the arrest, about how angry and betrayed she'd felt, about Danny being in prison, about how she'd _never _suspected, not even for a second.

He'd listened carefully and he'd held her close and he'd kissed her and he'd told her gently how he was pretty sure that Danny had _never _cared for her.

"Criminals are ruthless that way you know, Tess," he said, almost apologetically. "They use women as cover. This Danny of yours...he probably saw you as an easy target. Someone easily led he could prey on."

"It wasn't like that," she protested immediately. "Danny loved me. Loves me."

"Men like that don't love," John said patiently, his hand stroking through her hair. "The sooner you accept that the sooner you can move on with your life."

She hesitated. "I don't know that I'm ready to just forget Danny and move on, John."

"Then you don't want to see me," he said, his mouth tight, and the hand tightened in her hair.

"John, you're hurting me," she protested, wincing.

He released her immediately. "God, Tess, I'm so sorry," he said, horror struck. "It's just the thought of losing you...I've never met anyone like you before. You're so beautiful, so amazing...I just can't bear the idea of anyone taking advantage of you. You can understand that, right?"

She smiled a little, melting inside, and she'd been so lonely lately. There'd been no one she could talk to for so long. She'd had to leave New York to get away from what happened, and then her new workmates...they were nice enough, but she didn't have any friends. She didn't have anyone except John. "It's okay," she promised softly. "I understand."

"Good," he said, relieved. "I know we haven't known each other for long, but I love you, you know Tess. I love you so much. You believe me, don't you?"

He was insistent. And it sounded so good to hear. She smiled again and leaned back into her arms.

Even after all this time, she still didn't completely believe John when he said Danny didn't love her. He'd never met Danny after all. But by this time she'd learned not to argue.

John had apologised for hurting her back then. He still apologised sometimes. Still promised that it wouldn't happen again but deep down neither of them really believed him anymore.

This morning, he hadn't apologised. She hadn't made it to bed, she'd lain out on the living room floor last night. Once they'd got back anyway. After they'd argued about his drinking, John had been so angry...for a moment she'd really thought he might kill her.

She'd ran.

It wasn't the first time she'd left him, of course. It might be the fifth time or even the sixth. She was smart, after all. She knew this wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to hurt her...but like he kept telling her. Where else did she have to go?

She had no friends she'd seen in over two years. No family worth mentioning. No job. No money. She had _nothing. _

And besides. She did love him.

Sometimes she went back. Sometimes he found her and brought her back and he'd hit her and he'd kiss her and he'd swear that this time, _this _time, everything would be different. And for a while it would be, and then she'd say something stupid, do something stupid, and they'd be right back where they started.

Last night had been bad. She'd run out into the darkness, battered and bleeding and sobbing, and she hadn't had any idea where she was going. She'd found herself in a bad part of town, and John had been following her, calling her name anxiously, and she hadn't wanted to go home, she didn't want to go back there...she'd been so _scared_.

The phone booth had loomed out of the darkness and caught her in a moment of weakness, and she'd been crouched down on the floor, dialling the number before she'd even thought about it.

She knew his number off by heart by now. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd thought of calling in the past year. She'd promised Danny once upon a time...but that was a long time ago. She was a different person now.

She shouldn't have called. It wasn't like he'd want to hear from her, given the circumstances. It was a good thing she hadn't said anything and _really _embarrassed herself.

No, she was back home now and everything would be fine if she could just get off her lazy behind and get everything ready for John.

A sudden knock on the door and she jumped, startled, and the pain arced through her and she took a deep, shuddering breath, and it felt like her lungs were ripping apart.

She stared at the door, shaking, too scared to move, too scared to breathe and when the knocking came again the tears started.

"_Don't come in, don't come in, don't come in," _she chanted under her breath.

When the knocking finally stopped she let the sobs submerge her.


	5. The Benedict Job & One Year Earlier

**A/N: Look! It's 2012! Aren't we due an apocalypse or something? **

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><p>11th July 2001<p>

Tess was still asleep when Terry got out the shower. He stood and regarded her for a moment. Red hair strewn across white sheets. Absolutely naked and really very beautiful. He permitted himself a slight smile. He would have to tell her someday how beautiful she was in the mornings. Vulnerable and unselfconscious. And _his. _

She stirred slightly, hunched up at the very edge of the bed, and he noted the bruises with regret. He certainly hadn't intended to do that; he disliked seeing her perfect skin marred like that. Like seeing watermarks on a fine silk print – no one else would ever notice, but for him it would remain a source of displeasure. Call him a perfectionist.

They really did look quite ugly. Perhaps he would buy her some flowers to make up for it. Yes. That would be a nice gesture. He'd tell his assistant Marcia to have some delivered as soon as he got into the office this morning.

She rolled further over and the comforter fell away and his breath caught as he stood admiring the length of her legs, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts...Mmm. Perhaps...He glanced at his watch regretfully. No, he had to get to that meeting with the head croupiers. As tempting as Tess was, business _always _came before pleasure.

He stooped and laid a gentle kiss on her shoulder and he was already offering a patient, weary expression as she tensed and flinched away. Really. What was she expecting? She should know better by now, and he took satisfaction in her shamed expression.

"I need to go," he said neutrally. "I'll see you at dinner tonight." His hand drifted down her arm, covering the bruises. "Wear something with long sleeves."

"Of course," she agreed meekly and she automatically pulled the comforter up over her arms, ashamed. "Is there anything you want me to do today, Terry?"

He thought for a long moment, gazing down at her, and she lay still, hanging on his every word. He liked it when she looked at him like that. It made him feel...he smiled and reached into his pocket and carelessly threw a handful of bills down onto the bed. "Buy yourself something I'll like," he told her. "For after dinner."

She blushed prettily and nodded. "Of course, Terry."

"And take Louis with you," he added. Louis was one of his more overt security measures. He didn't like Tess leaving unaccompanied.

"I'll be – " she started to object, frowning unhappily. He held up a single finger warningly and she stopped talking immediately.

"Humour me," he said with a smile. "I just want you safe, after all."

"Of course," she said again and he kissed her and left.

Time for the less pleasant aspects of his day.

Tess didn't even cross his mind for most of the rest of the day. He was far too busy for that. Fight night was looming and that required a lot of preparation. The eyes of the world would be on him and everything had to go perfectly.

On top of that there were the usual meetings with his people, attending to all the myriad details that needed his daily attention. In Terry's ideal world no one so much as sneezed in his casinos without him personally knowing about it.

It wasn't until he was talking to security that he thought of Tess again. He remembered the man at dinner last night. The one who'd caught her attention so. He was tempted to have his people find out exactly who the man was. But that was perhaps being too hasty. After all, she had been telling the truth when she said she didn't know the man.

Someone who looked like an old lover of hers, and he remembered the look on her face at the deduction. He thought of the unprepossessing man from last night and his lip curled. Really, there could be no comparison. And he had every intention of reminding her of that. Letting her see just how good she had it. Last night was just a little reminder. He'd make her forget all about her old flames.

And the actual man from last night didn't matter so much after all. He'd been looking at Tess but Terry didn't mind them looking. Just like with everything else he owned he _wanted _people to know that his girlfriend was far out of their league. Of course, if anyone considered going beyond looking, they'd soon find out what a terrible mistake they'd made. Thieves, cheaters, flirts. They all got the same treatment. No one tried to take what was Terry's.

"Have flowers sent to Tess," he ordered Marcia as he was striding towards the high rollers room. "Is she back yet? Check with Louis."

Marcia nodded and looked down at her phone as she hurried to keep up with him. "Louis checked in half an hour ago. He's got a list of establishments Ms Halliday visited and then she came back to the Bellagio, went straight to your apartment and ordered room service."

"What did she order?" Terry asked.

She checked her phone again. "The prawn and avocado salad with low fat dressing and a mineral water, Mr Benedict."

"Good," he approved, allowing himself a small smile. It seemed like Tess was respecting his wishes.

"Uh, Mr Benedict?" Marcia said hesitantly. "What kind of flowers would you like me to order?"

He turned his head and stared at her. Honestly he didn't much care and if he trusted her he would have told her to pick herself. "Roses," he said at last. "Two dozen. Red."

"Yes, Mr Benedict," she agreed at once, making a note. "I'm sure Ms Halliday will love them."

"Yes," he said simply. "She will."

"It's really a very romantic gesture," she smiled softly. "You are very – "

He cut her off with a look and fortunately she took the hint and stopped talking immediately. He had no use for an assistant who was so..._sentimental. _He might well need to fire her if she didn't seriously start working on losing her bad habits.

Tess had learned fast. It was probably the point that had most drawn Terry to her in the beginning. She responded to his whims and his instructions so well, scrambling to be the woman he wanted. What man wouldn't be flattered? And the way she looked at him...it made him feel powerful. Respected. The way he saw it, her past cast him in the light of her hero and saviour, he took care of her with all of his considerable power and resources, and he enjoyed the benefits of her considerable gratitude. _She _knew how good she had it and it was all thanks to him.

He'd gone to work on her like a brilliant sculptor, chipping away at a piece of beautiful but unwieldy marble. A carefully considered comment here, a sharp suggestion there, and little by little, piece by piece, he'd shaped her into the woman she was today.

She should be thankful.

* * *

><p>29th June 2000<p>

It started when he was called in to cast a critical eye over the potential new curator for the museum. For that level of job, he liked to see for himself.

She was beautiful, that was the first thing he noticed and that was never a disadvantage. Having beautiful people in his employ impressed and dazzled his guests.

"You're Tess Halliday?" he asked as he swept into the room and stood over her. "I am Terry Benedict."

She jumped to her feet and her evident-but-controlled nervousness made him smile to himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Terry," she said, holding out her hand and her voice was clear and steady and she stood and looked him in the eyes like nothing he could do could touch her. It was a conscious effort. Something more than mere nerves.

Instantly, he found himself intrigued. There was something fresh about her, something vulnerable, and he felt the attraction immediately. He wanted to get to know her better.

Rather than shake her hand, he held it to his lips and kissed the air millimetres from her skin. "The pleasure is all mine," he murmured.

Her eyes were wide and a tiny, uncertain smile graced her face. "That's always nice to hear," she answered, seeming unduly flustered and flattered.

And that was good. He liked dealing with people when they were off balance. "So," he said, releasing her hand abruptly, and gesturing for her to sit. "I notice you've quit two jobs in three years. And you seem to have a gap in your resume that covers the last two years. Would you care to explain that?" The file was lying in front of him. Not that he needed to refer to it.

She bit her lip and looked over her shoulder. "I told Miss Jennings that it was due to personal reasons – "

" – I know what you told Miss Jennings," he interrupted patiently. "I want to know what really happened."

She stared at him for a long moment and there was a spark of anger in her eyes. "I'm not sure that's any of your business," she told him strongly.

Even more intriguing. He nodded seriously and looked down at the file casually. "You're eminently qualified for this job, you're smart, you're good with people and you have a real understanding of art. I think you'll do well here. Congratulations, Ms Halliday."

"I...I've got the job?" She sounded almost disbelieving.

He smiled. "Oh, yes," he agreed. He watched as she stood up, gathering her stuff together, a mixture of anxiety and jubilation. "Are you going to call someone special to celebrate?"

Instantly her face closed off and her eyes deadened. "No," she said dully. "No, I don't have anyone." She kept talking, almost unwillingly. "I don't really know anyone in town to be honest, Mr Benedict – "

" – Terry," he interjected. "For you, Terry. Please."

" – Terry," she agreed, smiling ever so slightly. "I just moved here on the spur of the moment. I've been staying in a hotel on the edge of town. I...haven't had much chance to socialise."

"You don't have anyplace to go?" he asked, soft and sympathetic and she looked at him and suddenly she looked exhausted and desperate. That expression was nearly enough to make him rethink hiring her.

"I have nothing," she admitted quietly. Almost immediately her eyes widened and she laughed. "Listen to me. I'm sorry, I think it's just nerves. I'm not usually like this."

He nodded unconcernedly. "Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?" he asked.

Her expression turned guarded. Frightened, even. "If I say no, do I still have a job?"

The accusation infuriated him and when he turned on her his mouth was set and his lips were thin. "I do not hire people based on anything other than competency," he said coldly. "Paul and Tamsin tell me you're the best and that's what I go with. If you're going to make a habit of questioning my integrity or my business practices, I may need to rethink this."

The moment she heard the anger in his voice she shrank back, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she stammered, her arms pressed close into her sides.

Fascinated, he noted the unusual reaction and wondered what lay behind it. Something to be considered later perhaps.

A long second of silence and she seemed to relax and she looked over at him, abashed. "Sorry," she said again and it was a different kind of apology.

"I'll ask again," he said smiling. "Would you like to have dinner with me? No strings attached, I assure you." He made his expression as open and considerate as he could and he pretended he wasn't watching the way she looked at him.

"Yes," she said at last. "Yes I think maybe I should."

"Good," he said simply. "I'll meet you at Sensi at seven. Mention my name."

She looked at her watch. "It's almost five now, and I need to go home and get changed," she objected. "And there is someone I should maybe call...there's a couple of things I should run by him maybe."

_Him. _He let the disapproval show in his face and in his voice. "Really."

She flushed. "Maybe not...I don't even _want _to call him." She smiled suddenly and it seemed liberated. "I'll meet you at seven," she promised.

"I'll see you there," he said dismissively, and there was a lot of work he had to get done first but he still found himself watching as she left the room.

Perhaps this was the start of something special.


	6. The Benedict Job 4

**A/N: Another chapter! Hope you like it. It's Monday and it's January so I'm not sure there's a whole lot else to like.**

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><p>11th July 2001<p>

Danny knocked on Rusty's door a couple of times before he opened it and he was maybe a little more perturbed than he should be to realise that the room was empty.

Okay, so really Rusty's disappearance was understandable. Turned out that robbing three casinos was hard work and they'd _both _been spending most of their time working. Danny should have expected that Rus' had already left. Probably he was in the warehouse, working on construction, which meant that while Danny would be welcomed, he wouldn't be _welcomed. _

He sighed. He'd thought they might have breakfast together before they started the day. And maybe that was partly because _his _plans for the day involved sneaking around behind Rusty's back, doing something that Rusty would almost certainly tell him was a really bad idea.

Wasn't _just _about that though. He hadn't seen Rusty last night either. Not for more than a couple of minutes anyway. Rusty had gone off to check in with Linus, make sure that the kid wasn't getting carried away, and he hadn't come back.

Dinner time, and they'd been eating pizza in the warehouse, and Rusty hadn't shown and Danny had been...not exactly...actually, fuck it, yes he'd been worried. He'd been worried and he'd asked Linus and the kid had stared at him for a moment with a rabbit-in-the-headlights look.

"Uh, he...I don't know, Danny, he just sort of walked off," he'd said and Danny had tried to content himself with that.

Contentment had lasted a whole ten minutes before he'd given up and called Rusty and all he'd got was a distracted "Talk later" and a brusque promise that Rusty was fine.

Much as Danny tried not to admit it, much as Danny tried to tell himself that they just needed time, much as he tried to tell himself that it was just his own guilty conscience even, things had been different since he got out of prison. Somehow, Rusty was more distant, and he couldn't even put his finger on exactly _how. _They could still read each others thoughts with a glance, they still talked in jokes and half-sentences, Rusty still smiled inside whenever Danny walked into the room...and yet, somehow it wasn't the _same._

Danny thought that somehow, somewhere along four years, Rusty had learned to live without him. And that shouldn't hurt as much as it did.

There were little things too. Hints of something different. Something wrong. Like when they'd been talking through who they'd need, and he'd suggested Phil Turrentine. "Dead," Rusty had said, like that was an end to it. "Skin cancer a year ago."

It had been unexpected and it had hurt. He remembered Phil's wedding. "Did you send flowers?" he asked.

Rusty had just stared blankly at him. "No," he said, and he just moved on to suggest Basher like it didn't even matter.

There was a coldness that frightened him.

He'd waited last night for Rusty to come in. It had been past midnight when Rusty finally appeared, and by that time Danny had fallen asleep on the sofa and he was only woken by the sound of the door opening.

He'd opened his eyes groggily, barely managing to focus on Rusty's face as he walked in the door, and for a moment he'd seen...he'd _thought _he'd seen...but when he blinked and sat up sharply, Rusty had been smiling at him and there'd been nothing in his eyes but affectionate exasperation.

"Didn't I tell you not to wait up?" Rusty asked, draping what looked like an over-excited wig over the TV.

"No," Danny said truthfully. "Besides, I fell asleep. So it doesn't count."

"Uh huh," Rusty shook his head and grinned and the cold, weary deadened look that Danny thought he'd seen was nowhere in sight. He _must _have imagined it. Right...? "You notice that argument never works when it's me?"

"You saying I'm inconsistent?" he shot back. "Where've you been, anyway?"

Rusty shrugged. "Had a few things to check in the Bellagio. Then I went for a walk to clear my head. What time is it, anyway?"

"After twelve," Danny told him and his mind was racing. Rusty had been in the Bellagio. He'd been talking to Linus about Terry. Did he _know? _He bit the inside of his lip. No. No, if Rusty knew that Danny had lied like that, if Rusty knew about Tess, there'd have been a confrontation. Rusty would have been angry with him, he'd have wanted (_deserved_) explanations.

"Huh." Rusty blinked and the look of astonishment at least couldn't be faked. "Guess I had more on my mind than I thought."

"Yeah?" Danny frowned and stood up, stepping towards Rusty, his hand outstretched. "Rus'..." he began, and he wanted to remind Rusty that he was here, that they could talk about _anything._

"Either that or I was abducted by aliens," Rusty said cheerfully, and he half turned away from Danny, reaching out to the door. "At any rate, think we both need some sleep. 'm tired, anyway. You always say sleep is the cure for that, right?" He held the door open expectantly.

"Right," Danny said, and the cheer in his voice was forced and he tried not to let Rusty see. "Nice to see you listen to me sometimes."

"Sometimes," Rusty allowed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Danny."

"Tomorrow," Danny nodded and then he was on the other side of the door.

Somehow, it was cold on the other side of the door.

He took a deep breath. There was no reason why he should _expect..._ This was normal, after all. Just that it was normal-normal, not them-normal.

Right now, he was in the same building as his wife and his best friend, and he hadn't felt so alone when he was in prison.

_(Rusty had moved on. Tess had moved on. Was it selfish of him to want everything back the way it used to be?)_

That had been last night. This morning he was determinedly optimistic and he'd planned on confronting Rusty over breakfast, being patient and firm and finding out exactly what was on Rusty's mind, and he'd planned on talking to Tess.

One out of two, he supposed. He could talk to Rusty this evening. Maybe he'd even be able to tell Rusty about Tess by then.

Tess. God, he missed her. He'd got the divorce papers a little over a year into his sentence and maybe it hadn't come as a surprise but it had hurt so _much. _And then he'd seen the picture in the paper. Tess standing behind Terry Benedict.

Benedict was someone Danny was vaguely aware of but had never directly come up again. Rumour had him as ruthless and humourless, and Danny's soul rebelled at the idea of Tess with someone like that. But if she was _happy_...

God knew, he'd broke her heart. Maybe she'd found herself a good life here.

He just didn't know. He didn't know, but he had to find out, because at the very least he owed her all the apologies and explanations he hadn't been able to give her before. Maybe she'd never give him a second chance. But he still wanted to talk.

Trouble was, just walking up and talking to her was tricky. Unsurprisingly, Terry's people were everywhere and he needed to stay below radar here. Not to mention, it didn't seem like Tess left the suite that often and when she did, mostly she was with Terry. Danny hadn't even been able to catch more than a glimpse of her since he'd been here and that was driving him out of his mind.

Today though, he had arranged things so no one was expecting him anywhere and, with a frission of unease, he turned his phone off and set to work, waiting for Tess.

He was in luck.

She appeared about ten, dressed in a pair of dark pants and a darker turtleneck, almost hidden beneath a long coat and a pair of dark glasses, and there was something strange about what she was wearing, and memory stirred in the back of his head, something just out of reach...

Didn't matter what she was wearing; she was beautiful. Even if he couldn't see her, she was beautiful and the pain of missing her was alive in him all over again, and it was all he could do to not rush forwards and take her into his arms.

He held himself back and an instant after she stepped out of the door, an impossibly tall man in a badly-fitting suit walked up to her.

"Are you ready to go, Miss Halliday?" he rumbled, and Danny was too far away to hear Tess' response, but it was presumably positive because they started heading towards the elevators together.

Huh. That was strange. He was pretty sure he recognised the man, was pretty sure he was one of Terry's security goons, but what the hell was he doing with Tess? Bodyguard, maybe? That sounded farfetched, but he supposed Terry was a man in a position to make a lot of enemies. Maybe...

Once they were in the elevator he crept out of the doorway and moved quickly, watching as the numbers fell towards the ground floor. Right. Looked like they were either heading out or to the casino floor. And Tess didn't gamble, so Danny would bet that they were going out.

As long as the bodyguard was there, Danny didn't dare approach Tess. All he could do was follow them and hope that he got some opportunity.

He waited impatiently for the elevator and gladly hid himself in the crowd as it headed for the ground floor and people spilled out into the foyer. Looking round quickly, he saw Tess and the bodyguard walking out the main entrance.

Time to follow, he guessed.

Thing was, he couldn't even let Tess see him. There was no way in the world she wouldn't recognise him, and he couldn't be certain that she wouldn't give him away to her bodyguard, unknowingly or...otherwise.

And that left him skulking around in the shadows, spying on his wife.

God, this wasn't what he wanted.

He followed them into the shopping district, keeping a clear distance at all times and he couldn't get close enough to even see Tess' face. He _wanted _to see her face. Wanted to see the way she smiled, the look of intent concentration she wore when she was listening to something interesting, the way the life danced across her face.

As far as he could tell, she and the bodyguard didn't say a word to each other. The guy was clearly less interesting than Kevin Costner, and in Danny's opinion that was saying something. He watched them walk around designer shops, watch Tess pick out dresses, shoes, jewellery and there was something _wrong _here. Her every movement was awkward and lacklustre, and even when she was standing in front of the sales assistant, proffering cash, she barely raised her head. It didn't seem like she was even looking at what she was buying. Certainly she didn't try anything on. Clothes were picked up at random and paid for and she didn't look round once. And Danny mostly didn't want her to see him right now, but somehow the fact that he was barely having to hide...he was afraid.

His teeth were on edge; this wasn't right. This wasn't _her _and he was deep in the grip of fear and unease.

The last shop he followed her into was Victoria's Secret and he watched with distaste as the bodyguard followed her in, looking eagerly around himself and he could imagine Tess' embarrassment at the company.

He felt like screaming as he watched Tess pick up a skimpy black and red oriental babydoll with the same dull vacancy that she'd shown every step of the day. Like it didn't matter. Like she wasn't even there.

She didn't even _like _that kind of pattern. Hell, she didn't even like that kind of lingerie, and he found himself tense and staring, his fists clenched as she took it up to the counter, and the bodyguard was staring straight at him.

Quickly, he ducked round the corner, and he could feel the curious stare following him, and he had to make sure Tess didn't see him, _had_to, because there was more going on here than he'd previously suspected and he needed time to think, needed time to make plans, needed to understand what the hell was going on here?

He grabbed something lacey off a nearby hanger and handed it to the sales assistant quickly, his head ducked down so he could be sure they wouldn't see him.

"Did you find everything you needed today sir?" the sales assistant asked him brightly.

"Unfortunately," he said with a smile and he took the bag off her, acutely aware of the moment when Tess walked past behind him, inches away, and his heart ached.

"You can tell Terry I'm heading back to the suite," she said to the bodyguard, her voice tired and dull. "I'll be there for the rest of the day."

"Sure thing, Miss Halliday," he said. "I'm sure Mr Benedict will be pleased you've enjoyed yourself. Want me to carry your bags for you?" There was a leer in his voice, and Danny tore into his lip in a desperate attempt to contain his fury. He couldn't win the fight. And if he forced any kind of confrontation _here..._a man approaching a woman in a lingerie shop? He'd be lucky if he got arrested rather than lynched.

He stayed by the counter until they'd left the shop, then he headed back to the hotel.

He had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think.  
><strong>


	7. Four years earlier

**A/N: To s.s. - sorry, as you review anonymously I unfortunately can't reply to you in private. I am sorry that you're not enjoying this fic, however I really do have to point out that Tess is listed as one of the main characters on the story, and she's also prominently mentioned in the summary. I can assure you that she's going to remain an integral part of the story, and I'd therefore strongly advise that perhaps you might like to try reading something more to your liking? Please believe me, I have absolutely no interest in making you feel like "You have to read it anyway," in fact, I would far rather you go read something else. There are many fantastic stories on this site in many different fandoms. Or you could actually go read a book or another work of literature. But reading something you're not going to enjoy just out of some sense of necessity? That's just kinda sad. And certainly not something that any writer wants to hear. I wish you luck finding something you like. **

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><p>April 14th 1997<p>

This was a nightmare. It _had _to be, surely. There was no way he could have been that _stupid._

Danny looked around desperately, but the cell showed no signs of fading away. Damn it.

The job hadn't even been complicated. The Incan Matrimonial Headmasks had been stored in the vault downstairs, the museum benefit had been going on upstairs, and it had been easy enough to leave the one to break into the other. Should've been easy enough. Only when he'd left the vault, when he'd walked out of the side door, the cops had been there, waiting.

He still didn't even know how. Didn't really matter. He'd missed something, or someone had talked, or, hell, maybe they'd heard that the museum was giving away doughnuts. Didn't _matter_. The point was, he'd been well and truly caught with his hand in the cookie jar and nothing was ever going to be the same again.

At least he'd been working alone. That was a blessing. Rusty was in England right now. With any luck he wouldn't even hear for a few days. Long enough for the dust to have settled, long enough for Danny to have convinced the cops that there was no doubt he _always _worked alone, long enough that Rusty wouldn't have the opportunity to do anything noble and self sacrificing.

Rusty was gonna hear that Danny was in prison and that was going to kill him, Danny had no doubt. If he closed his eyes, he could see the look on Rusty's face, the pain, the anger, the fear. The shock and disbelief. He could imagine Rusty's desperate wish to get him out of here, imagine the helpless rage, and Rusty wasn't going to be able to do anything and _that _was going to be hell.

But at least Rusty would understand how it had happened.

Tess...

Oh, God, Tess.

He'd tried to call her after he'd been arrested. She was the phonecall he _needed _to make, after all. But he'd been stupid there too, because he'd been so intent on what he was going to say, how he was going to say it, that he'd called the house. She wasn't at the house. She was out of town, handling an auction for the gallery and she wasn't going to be back till tomorrow. That was part of what had made this stupid job so fucking attractive, after all. No need to lie about where he was going.

But he'd called and she hadn't answered, and he hadn't known the number of the hotel off by heart, and he'd wanted to call Rusty, because if _he _couldn't be the one to call Tess, it should be Rusty, but the cops had scowled and taken the phone off him and they'd taken him back to this cell and locked the door.

In the morning they'd interview him some more.

By then, Tess would know what he was.

Oh, God.

He didn't sleep that night, he just lay perfectly still on the narrow bunk, the hard slats pressing into his shoulder, and tried to see any way out of this.

Nothing was exactly leaping out at him. He'd done the crime, now he was going to have to do the time. He didn't want to go to prison, but he thought he'd survive. He _knew _he'd survive. He just worried for the people he was leaving behind.

Most important thing was that they kept thinking he was on his own. No way Rusty's name could be linked in here, he knew, but Tess...

Tess was his wife. They were going to want to talk to her. They were going to want to know if she knew anything, if she'd seen anything, suspected anything. Fuck, they might even think she was involved. And if this all dragged on too long, maybe someone would want to write a news story. He closed his eyes and he could imagine Tess being hounded by cops and reporters, trying to deal with what Danny had done, trying to understand what Danny had done. He couldn't bear it.

He wasn't going to let it happen.

Morning came and the cops took him round to the interview room and started the interrogation.

He was charming, he was polite, he was respectful. And he was one hundred percent cooperative.

He tried to paint the theft as a crime of opportunity, something he'd never done before and never would again, but he never denied it. Not for a second.

The sooner this was over, the less they'd need to talk to Tess.

Throughout the morning, he watched them exchange glances, watched them fall under the spell of easy charisma, and he might be a crook, but he was a _likeable _crook and he was making their job easy.

That meant he was able to ask them to let him know when Tess had been told.

That meant that they told him when she arrived at the police department in a flurry of shock and righteous anger.

That meant he was able to persuade them to let him talk to her in private.

He managed to avoid shrugging off the sympathetic pat on the shoulder as they left the room.

Right now, he didn't deserve any sympathy.

She practically ran into the interview room, and his heart leapt to see her. Might have been only yesterday morning that he'd seen her, but so much had changed overnight...it felt like _years. _

There was fear and incomprehension and anger in her eyes.

The anger wasn't for him. Not yet.

She raced towards him, practically falling over herself in her haste, her need to reach him.

"Oh, Danny, are you alright? Have they been treating you okay?" Her hands were pressed against his face and she was studying him frantically, searching for injuries, for pain, for god-knew-what.

"I'm fine," he promised, and she practically threw herself into his arms, and after the briefest of hesitations, he held her tight and he could feel her trembling. "Tess - "

She looked up at him quickly, and she was holding his hands tightly now, and _she _was trying to reassure him. " - Don't worry," she cut in. "I swear, I'm going to get you out of here. I'll find a lawyer. I'll talk to the police. I'm sure they'll realise how _ridiculous _this all is soon enough. They must have mistaken you for someone else or something. But we'll get it straightened out Danny, I promise."

Oh, God. This was hell. He untangled his hands from hers with an effort. "Why don't we sit down a moment, Tess," he suggested, leading her over to the chair, and when she was sitting down, he knelt on the floor in front of her, his hand lightly resting on hers. "When the police arrested me, I had five hundred thousand dollars worth of stolen goods in a case," he began gently.

Her brow was creased. "Someone gave you a case to hold?" she suggested slowly.

He swallowed. "No. No, I put the masks in the case. I took them out of the vault myself. I...I stole them, Tess."

She was staring at him in bewilderment. "I don't understand. Is this...is this some kind of joke?"

He took a deep breath. "I wish it was. I'm so sorry."

"How _could _you?" she demanded, her voice shot through with hurt and disbelief and betrayal.

He winced and for the first time in his life he regretted everything he was.

"I thought...I thought you were different," she whispered, turning her face away, like she couldn't even bear to look at him.

He didn't understand what she'd said, exactly, but he understood the tone, and he squeezed her hand lightly, pleadingly. "Tess..."

She snatched her hand away. "The masks...those Incan Matrimonial Headmasks? That's what you're talking about?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"I told you about them," she said in a whisper, looking back round, her eyes haunted and horrified. "I said they were going to be...and you stole them. You _stole _them."

"Tess," he tried. "I know I've let you down, but I love you. You have to believe I love you."

The chair clattered to the ground as she stood up, shakily backing away from him, shaking her head, and he stood up too, but he couldn't move towards her, not when she was looking at him like _that_. "I don't know who you are, Danny. I don't...you've been lying to me all this time?"

He tried to say something. Tried to say _anything. _But the words wouldn't come and she was heading for the door and she was looking at him like he was a stranger, and there was no hint of forgiveness in her eyes, no suggestion that there could _ever _be forgiveness, and if he couldn't apologise, he could at least say what had to be said.

"Listen," he said, darting quickly across the room and leaning on the door before she could knock to get the cops attention.

"Let me out," she said, her voice trembling.

The sound made his heart ache, but he had to tell her this. "The cops are going to want to talk to you. Don't lie to them. Don't hide anything. Just be open and truthful and they'll leave you alone. I'm going to be away for a long time." He swallowed hard, and he didn't know what his sentence would be, but whatever it was, it would be a lifetime. And there was no way he was going to make bail. No doubt he was a flight risk. Mostly because if he made bail, he was taking Tess and running. "You need anything, you're in any trouble at all, go to Rusty. He'll look after you. You understand?"

"Let me out," she said again, and she was pleading and the tears were running down her face.

"Tess," he whispered, his heart breaking, and he reached out to stroke her face, and she jerked her head away.

"Let me out," she begged him again.

"Promise me you'll go to Rusty," he said instead.

"I promise," she said, her voice choked with tears, but he thought she meant it at least.

He stepped aside. "I love you, Tess," he said, his voice thick.

She didn't look at him. She didn't say a word. She just banged on the door and ran the second it opened, and she didn't look back. Not for a second.


	8. The Benedict Job 5

**A/N: Hope the time skipping isn't confusing people. I've been keeping it marked, obviously, but the story is going to go on like this. And even the 'present' is more than ten years ago now. Which is weird. :)  
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><p>11th July 2001<p>

* * *

><p>Livingston only looked away from the monitors for the briefest of seconds when Rusty walked in. Just enough for a distracted smile of acknowledgement, and then he returned to the realms of intense concentration.<p>

Not like Rusty didn't understand that. They were right in the middle of doing several impossible things before fight night, the last thing they needed was any distractions. But some things were more important than the con and he needed Livingston's attention, at least for a few moments.

He perched on the edge of the desk, his back to the monitors and Livingston blinked up at him, clearly surprised.

"Hey, Livingston," he said easily. "I need a favour."

"This for the con?" Livingston asked. "Oh! Is this about the second tape for the vault. Because I've already - "

Rusty held up his hand. "I need a favour and you can't ask me why," he corrected himself.

Livingston stilled and Rusty knew he was asking a lot. "Of course, Rus'. What do you need?"

He smiled thankfully. "Need fifteen minutes dead camera time in Stairwell 6 on the between the 19th and 20th floors. At seven forty five tonight."

"Right," Livingston nodded, leafing through plans frantically. "That's..." He looked up at Rusty slowly, his eyes wide. "That's right next to Benedict's suite."

"Is it?" Rusty asked levelly, his head tilted to one side.

"Right," Livingston said again, swallowing hard. "No questions, I know. Rus'..." He bit his lip. "Do you want the cameras in the corridor taken down too? It would be more noticeable but I think I - "

" - That won't be necessary," Rusty cut in, smiling reassuringly. He didn't have any intention of breaking into the suite. Not yet anyway.

Livingston didn't look terribly reassured. "Okay...seven forty five tonight. It's - "

He heard the sound of footsteps outside the room and then the sound of the door starting to open. _Danny. _Hell. Quicker than thought, he leaned forwards and pressed his mouth to Livingston's, the kiss urgent and apologetic.

They didn't break apart for a second, not until Rusty heard Danny walk into the room.

He looked up at Danny, smiling and unabashed and Livingston was carefully staring at the monitors, blushing furiously. "You looking for me?"

There was a hint of amusement in Danny's eyes, but it was almost buried beneath layers of worry and concern and he knew that had _nothing _to do with him and Livingston. "When you've got a minute," Danny agreed.

He nodded. "Five minutes. Your room," he offered.

Wasn't until Danny had closed the door that he turned to Livingston. "Sorry."

No one had ever accused Livingston of being stupid. "You don't want Danny to know what you're doing," he said slowly.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. "Don't tell him. Please."

Livingston stared at him for a long moment, and Rusty _knew_ what he was asking. He was asking Livingston to choose between them. He was asking for unquestioning loyalty while he snuck around behind Danny's back, and he knew it wasn't fair.

"I won't," Livingston said at last, slowly.

"Thanks," he grinned. "I owe you."

"Don't mention it," Livingston said absently. "Rus'...if you're in_ trouble_..."

"If I'm in over my head, I'll let you know," he lied, standing up and heading for the door.

"Just...be careful," Livingston requested with a sigh.

He paused in the doorway, and turned round and regarded Livingston seriously. "I'll do my best," he promised.

Right. He glanced down the corridor towards Danny's room and he was almost tempted to quickly head in the opposite direction. He _hated _lying to Danny. Hated the need for secrecy and sneaking around. Wasn't right. Not by a long shot.

But he remembered that look in Danny's eyes and he knew that running wasn't an option here. He wasn't sure exactly what was bothering Danny - hell, there were a lot of possibilities on that list - but whatever it was, Rusty pulling a vanishing act would be one more thing for Danny to deal with.

Thing was, he couldn't tell Danny about Tess. Not yet. He wanted to talk to _her _first and there was no way that was going to happen until tonight. And there was so much he _couldn't _tell Danny anyway.

Anyway. Danny hadn't told _him _about Tess, had he? Wasn't like he was the only one keeping secrets.

He pasted a smile of mild curiousity onto his face and walked into the room. "So what's up?" he asked brightly, and immediately his attention was drawn to the Victoria's Secret bag lying on the couch. Huh. The smile flickered and for a moment he wondered...but when he opened the bag the negligee wasn't Tess' size and wasn't her style. "Don't know that this is your colour," he commented lightly.

"No, but it's yours," Danny returned immediately, watching him through narrowed eyes.

"So what is up?" he asked, leaning back against the door, his arms folded.

Danny was stood in the middle of the floor, his eyes fixed on Rusty like there was no one else in the world. "Why don't you tell me?"

He tilted his head to one side. "Construction is going fine. We'll be finished ahead of schedule, I think. Gonna send Frank, Turk and Virgil out looking for transport. Basher is - "

" - I'm not talking about the con," Danny cut in evenly.

Rusty had already known that. "What then?"

For a moment Danny just stared at him, and he could see the thoughts turning over and over, and he wondered if Danny was considering telling him that Tess was here and he wondered what he'd do if Danny _did_.

"You've changed," Danny said at last.

Rusty blinked. That hadn't been what he'd expecting. Not by a long shot. He'd thought they were going to be talking about Tess, directly or indirectly. This was..."Changed?" he repeated, and maybe he was playing for time a little, his mind whirling, trying to second guess what Danny _meant. _He supposed since he'd seen Tess here he'd got a whole lot more secretive. That was the sort of thing that Danny would pick up on in a second, and he opened his mouth, ready to point out just how all-consuming this job was, admit to being maybe a little too locked in. Wasn't like that was a lie after all. Danny would never even...

"I noticed from the first moment I saw you," Danny went on, watching him closely. "Thought it was me at first." He smiled humourlessly. "Everyone says prison changes a man."

"It hasn't," Rusty said quickly, and he knew who Danny was.

"I know," Danny said and his voice was calm but there was an edge running beneath his words... "But _you've _changed. I went to prison. When I came out you were...harder."

He ruthlessly suppressed his shiver at the thought. _Had _he changed? He really didn't know. "Harder?" he repeated and he smiled lightly. "This some ploy to get me into your lingerie?"

Danny didn't smile. "Be serious, Rus'."

"It's overrated," he said absently, and then he looked Danny straight in the eyes. "Look, Danny, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Didn't seem like Danny believed him. "I talked to Saul, you know."

Saul didn't know anything. He raised his eyebrows in amused enquiry and waited patiently.

"He says this is the first time he's seen you in three years," Danny went on. "He says he's barely heard from you. Last two years, you don't answer your phone. Just text him to say you don't have time to talk."

Fuck. "I've been busy," he said truthfully.

"Doing _what?_" Danny demanded.

Lot of running, lot of hiding. Little dying. He shrugged. "This and that." He grinned. "Quite a lot of that, as a matter of fact."

The frustration and anger on Danny's face _hurt._ Not a look he'd ever seen directed at him before. "In fact, I've asked everyone. This is the first time _anyone's _seen you lately. You telling me that's normal?"

"Who said I was normal?" Rusty shot back.

"I'm telling you you're _not," _Danny said simply.

That hurt. "Frank - " he began, offering the one person that they both knew he_ had _seen_._

" - told me he saw you three weeks before I came looking. And he was surprised, because he hadn't seen you for over three years before that. In fact, he said he called you with an opportunity in Rome, and you turned him down flat."

That had been six months ago. Frank had called him and he'd been holed up in a rundown motel, avoiding the windows, breathing in the smell of damp and blood, nursing a knife wound and praying for a plan.

This was straying dangerously close to all the things that Danny must never know.

He looked at Danny levelly and twisted the knife. "Maybe I just don't like to work without you."

Danny jerked like he'd been shot and closed his eyes for a second. "Is that what this is? You're angry with me?"

Angry that Danny had left him. Angry that he'd had to deal with the nightmare alone. Angry for _Tess. _

He didn't say anything.

"No," Danny said softly, his eyes narrowed. "That's what you _want _me to think, isn't it?" He bit his lip. "So what's so bad that you'd rather I thought that?"

"There's nothing, Danny," he said softly. "You're blowing this out of proportion. So maybe I've changed. People do."

"We don't," Danny said immediately.

He shrugged. "According to you, that's not true. You can't have it both ways."

"Something happened, didn't it?" Danny said slowly, his eyes tormented. "Something happened while I was in prison that you don't want me to know about. Rus' - "

" - Lots of things happened, Danny," he interrupted fiercely. "It was four years."

"Tell me," Danny demanded.

"Tell you _what?_" Rusty asked harshly. "Tell you all about some awful trauma that you missed that'll fit nicely into this little theory of yours? Nothing happened, Danny! Forget it."

Danny was staring at him. "Okay," he said at last, softly.

Somehow, that caught Rusty off guard. "Okay?" he echoed.

"Yeah," Danny nodded, swallowing hard. "If that's what you're telling me...okay."

"Well, good," he said hollowly, and somehow he found himself wanting to tell Danny...not everything. But about Tess, anyway. About Tess and Terry Benedict, because Danny needed to know about that. _Deserved_ to know about that. Only not yet, because he had to talk to Tess first, because _she _deserved that, and he owed her that.

He sighed. "I've changed?" he asked, and right in that moment he hated the way his own voice sounded.

"Yeah," Danny said, and his voice was a mix of sympathy and despair.

"Oh." He tried not to think of all the reasons _why. _"D'you...you still trust me, right?"

Danny nodded slowly.

Rusty couldn't decide whether or not he wanted that to be a lie.


	9. The Benedict Job 6

**A/N: This A/N exists to make InSilva paranoid...**

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><p>11th July 2001<p>

He spent the rest of the afternoon in Danny's room, watching daytime TV, and it was awkward and unnatural. After everything Danny had said, part of him wanted to get as far away as possible, but that just wasn't an option here. The way he felt about Danny hadn't changed. Far as he could tell - and surely, surely, _surely _he'd be able to tell - the way Danny felt about him hadn't changed. Whatever Danny had seen, he didn't want to risk putting any more distance between them.

After tonight, hopefully, he'd be able to tell Danny about Tess. And much as he'd been trying not to think about it, it seemed likely that little revelation would ruin everything.

Hey, Danny. While you were in prison, I lived with your wife for a year. And now she's with Terry Benedict, and he's doing fuck-knows-what to her, but she's miserable and frightened, and it's all my fault.

If Danny was looking for a reason not to trust him, well. That would do nicely and it didn't even cover everything. If the worst came to the worst, he'd just have to convince Danny to be pragmatic. Danny would have to accept that even if he couldn't stand the sight of Rusty, he could still use him. Convincing Danny to put Tess first...in the circumstances, he didn't think that would be difficult.

His thoughts were dark, and it was a relief when seven thirty finally rolled around. "I gotta get going," he said, and as he stood up he spotted a flash of answering relief in Danny's eyes. Huh. He wondered what Danny's plans were. Not like he could exactly ask right now. Better that they were both hiding.

He headed upstairs, texting Livingston quickly, just checking that they were still set. The reply was full of indignation and he felt himself smile slightly, in spite of himself. Yeah. Questioning whether or not Livingston was going to do something he'd been asked to had never been a popular move.

He'd missed Livingston over the past couple of years. He'd missed everyone. And the past year, when he hadn't dared to say more than five words to anyone, when even meeting a waiter's eye had been stupid and dangerous...wasn't only talking to _Danny _again that made him feel giddy.

There was no point in regrets. He briskly ducked onto the hallway, mere feet away from Benedict's suite - from Tess - and he quickly stuck an 'Out of Order' sign on both elevators and dropped a hazard triangle in front of them. There. He knew Tess. It wouldn't even occur to her to check to see if the elevator was actually working. She'd obey the sign.

Quickly, he headed back into the stairwell and settled himself down on the landing below, leaning against the far wall, making sure she'd be able to see him. He could have forced the confrontation in the elevator, of course. There'd be far less possibility of Tess just turning around and heading in the opposite direction that way. But he hadn't _wanted _her to feel trapped.

He glanced at his watch. Right on time. Right about now, Tess would be thinking about heading downstairs to meet Benedict. And, right about now, Benedict would be being delayed by Saul. That part had worked out rather neatly.

He was listening out for it, and he thought he heard the sound of footsteps and the sound of a frustrated sigh, and then the stairwell door was pushed open and Tess was walking towards him.

The moment she saw him she stopped dead and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Hi, Tess," he said softly.

It wasn't like he'd been expecting her to be pleased to see him but the utter fury in her eyes, the twist of hate to her mouth...it still hurt.

He saw her ball up her fist. Watched the swing. Didn't move an inch.

Pain and his head rocked back and he touched his fingers to his lip. They came away bloody.

"Glad something stuck," he told her.

"I said I never wanted to see you again," she snapped coldly. "I _meant _it, Rusty."

He nodded, not moving any closer to her. "I know. But I wanted to talk to you."

"I don't have time to talk," she said, looking down the stairs, and the anger was still there, but he could see a glint of fear in her eyes and he thought - he _hoped _ - that wasn't aimed at him. "I'm meeting Terry for dinner."

"He's going to be held up," he said reassuringly. "If you're a few minutes late, he'll never even know. I promise, Tess."

She stared at him, and now the fear was out in full force. "Held up? He's...you're - "

" - just someone who happens to want to talk to him," he interrupted quickly. "He'll join you for dinner. If you want to be there."

Her hands were twisting together uncomfortably and she took a couple of steps back, away from him. "He's a good man."

"No," Rusty said calmly. "He's really not."

"What would you know about it?" she demanded, her head snapping up to look at him. "Don't you dare judge Terry, you_..._you _monster."_

He made sure to hide the wince, to hide all the pain at her words. "I saw the two of you having dinner last night," he said carefully. "I saw the way he looks at you. Heard some of the things he said. That's not the way a good man talks to _anyone, _Tess. Let alone the woman he's supposed to love."

She was shaking her head furiously. "No. No, you're wrong. Terry's good to me. He's patient, he's tolerant and he cares for me. He's a good man. He's more than I deserve. He's not like John. He's not like Danny. He's not like _you_. He doesn't hit me. He's not a thief. He's not - "

Her voice had a strange, repetitive pattern to it. Like she'd said these exact same words before, many, many times. He had an image of her standing in front of the mirror, telling herself all this like a mantra, a prayer, and his heart ached. " - Is that really what you want to settle for,Tess?" he cut in softly. "There's - "

" - better out there?" she cut in, and her eyes were fixed on the floor. "Not that I ever found." She gave a soft, choked sob, and instinctively Rusty reached out, offering comfort like he had so many times before.

She flinched away. "Leave me alone," she begged. "Don't you think you've done enough?"

No. No, obviously he hadn't, or she wouldn't be here. "I want to help you, Tess," he tried. "If you won't come away with me, call Kat at least. She - "

" - she worried because you paid her," Tess said bitterly.

He thought about the dozen or so messages Kat had left him, her voice more anxious and bewildered each time. "You know that's not true," he said softly.

She shook her head, her lips pressed tight together. "Leave me alone," she said after a second, her voice unsteady. "I'm with Terry now."

"I know," he said. "But he isn't good for you, Tess. Please. Let me help you."

Didn't seem like she was listening. "You said last night...you were spying on me?" She gasped. "The man at the next table. I remember...it _was_ you." Her eyes flickered up to his face. "I could tell Terry, you know. I_ should_ tell Terry. What do you think would happen if Terry knew what you'd done?"

Terry wouldn't care about that part. But the rest...oh, Rusty figured that Terry would have what was left of him buried in the desert.

And Tess was right, of course. She could tell Terry right now and there was nothing he would do to stop her. "If that's what you think is right, Tess," he said gently, dismissing the issue. "But listen to me. The way Terry talks to you. You know that's not right." She wasn't looking at him, but he knew her well enough to know she was hearing every word. "He shouldn't talk to you like that way. He shouldn't order you around. He shouldn't be in charge of what you eat, what you wear, what you _do._ He's hurting you, Tess. He's crushing everything that makes you the person you are, and I want to help you. Say the word right now, and I'll take you away from here. You know I will."

"I hate you," she whispered, and her voice was thick with tears. "I _hate_ you." She threw herself into his arms, and he held her tightly, and he could feel her shaking. "I hate you," she told him again.

"Just say the word," he said again.

She pulled away. "I need to go," she said, looking down and wiping her face.

"I'm staying in the hotel," he said quickly. "Room 714. If you need me. Just one word, Tess. I swear."

"I need to go to Terry," she said, not looking at him.

"Terry doesn't love you," he said simply.

There was a crack and she was staring at him, trembling, and he raised his hand to his face again, exploring the pain. He didn't say anything. She hit him again.

"You don't know what love is," she snapped, her voice high and shaking.

"We both know that's not true," he told her.

She shook her head. "I've...I've got to go," she said, and she hurried downstairs.

He watched her go and leaned back heavily against the cold wall. Fuck. That hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped.


	10. Two years earlier 3

**A/N: Longer chapter than usual. And all I can really say on the likely length of this fic is that it is going to be shorter than 'The more things change'.  
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><p>January 16th 1999<p>

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><p>He'd found the address that Angelica had given him for Tess without any trouble, but when he knocked there was no answer. Could be that there was no one home, he knew that, but he wasn't completely sure that was the case. The drapes were still shut and there was just a <em>feeling<em>...not a house he'd normally consider breaking into blind.

Right now, of course, he was considering it. Tess had called him, and there was no way she would do that unless she was desperate. He found it all too easy to imagine her just on the other side of that door, maybe injured and alone.

He bit his lip, forcing his imagination into silence. He couldn't break in right now. There were houses all around; he knew he was being watched by at least two nosey neighbours. This didn't seem the friendliest neighbourhood in the world, but he didn't think they'd sit and watch him break in without doing something about it.

Alright. If he wasn't any further forwards by tonight, he was breaking in and that was an end to it. In the meantime...he glanced at the nameplate by the door. Apparently John Ross lived here. Well, for a start, he could learn as much about John Ross as possible.

Nosey neighbours were about to come in handy.

He looked round and saw an elderly lady struggling with an armful of shopping, obviously heading to the house next door. Wasn't that just perfect.

Effortlessly projecting an air of innocent charm, he walked up to her. "Excuse me, ma'am, do you need a hand with those?"

A little heavy lifting got him the information that her name was Betty, and she'd lived here all her life, and five minutes later he was sitting in her kitchen, drinking a cold glass of lemonade and hearing absolutely everything that had happened in the neighbourhood for the past two decades. He listened patiently. As tempting as it might be, demanding answers was counterproductive. Eventually, with a little steering, she would get onto what he needed to know.

"...and of course, I told Mr Ross next door that he had his television up too loud again, but do you think he listened?"

"His television?" Rusty asked, sounding sympathetic, and any lead in, no matter how irrelevant it seemed, would do.

"Oh, yes, dear," she nodded. "Unbearable it was. I don't know how they can hear themselves think. And the programs they listen to! All shouting and swearing. Awful, it is. And in the middle of the night too."

"Awful," he agreed, shaking his head, and his mouth was dry. "And it's definitely the television?"

"Well what else could it be?" she asked. "I suppose one of those new-fangled video cassette recorders maybe, I don't know. When I was young we had the radio and the picture house."

"Ah, well, you won't get someone like that appreciating the simple life," he nodded, desperately trying to keep her talking about John Ross. "You said they...he's married?"

As he hoped, that seemed to hit a nerve. "Married? No, not him. He has a woman living with him though. I don't know how young people live with themselves these days. Fornication is a sin, you know."

There were worse crimes. "What's she like? The woman," he asked, and part of him was hoping that he'd found Tess at least.

"She's pretty," Betty conceded with a sniff. "The tall and elegant type. Gives herself airs, if you ask me, though she needn't. She doesn't work and there's no ring on her finger. A kept woman, we used to call it. Someone's bit of stuff."

He didn't know anything for sure. He didn't _know._

"Now, what was her name?" she wondered. "I heard Mr Ross yelling it once. She hadn't pressed his shirt or something." She looked smug. "I don't know, I think if a woman doesn't have anything else to do she can at _least _look after her man. I don't know what the modern girl is thinking."

"The name?" Rusty prompted with quiet desperation, hoping that she wouldn't notice anything suspicious in the question.

She didn't seem to. "Let me see, it began with a 'T', I know that. Tracey or Teresa or Tina, maybe."

"Tanya?" he threw out. "Tess?"

"Tess!" She nodded sharply and his heart sank. "That was it. Pretty name. Pretty woman. Very rude though. Most days when I say hello to her in the street, she doesn't even acknowledge me. And last winter she slipped on the ice and when Mr Lucas went to help her up, she snatched her hand away! Wouldn't let him touch her, can you believe that? Must have been drinking, if you ask me. We all watched her crawl to the front door. On her hands and knees, well. I'd die of shame if it was me."

Rusty thought that Tess had probably _wanted_ to. He imagined her in that position, imagined how she'd feel - whatever the cause - and he had to fight the urge to go throw up.

"What's he like?" he asked instead. "John Ross."

"Oh, he's a real man," she said happily, with a slight sideways look that suggested she didn't think he measured up. "He's tall and strong and ever so polite. He's helped me with my shopping a time or two, you know, and he liked my lemonade just as much as you do."

Rusty laid the glass down quickly on the table, before he could help himself. "What does he do?" he asked hastily.

"Business, dear," Betty told him. "That's really as much as I know. I think he owns a few warehouses."

That covered a lot of ground, both legitimate and otherwise. Not that it really mattered. Tess was here and she was in trouble and he _had _to talk to her.

"You know, you're a nice young man," Betty said thoughtfully. "You really need to find a nice young lady and settle down. You don't want to end up like poor Mr Ross, taken in by a floozy."

"Thank you, Betty," he said, standing up quickly. "For the lemonade and the chat. I really must be going now."

"Oh," she said, flustered. "Oh, well, it was nice to meet you. Let me see you out."

She showed him to the door and he walked out into the street.

Right. That had done nothing to ease his mind. His fingers scrubbed around the outside of his mouth, as he slowly walked past the front door. He had to get a way to see Tess. But even if she _was _there, she wasn't answering the door. He sighed. Maybe if he...

The front door started to open slowly.

He quickly sped up, making sure he was well past the house, and he ducked behind a tree at the end of the street, and looked back to see.

Tess walked slowly out the door and he could see that she was moving as carefully as possible, could see the clumsiness as she turned and locked the door, and she fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping them twice, before she turned round and walked down the path and onto the street, walking away from him.

He supposed he could understand why Angelica and Betty had thought she might have a problem with alcohol. Understand. Not forgive. Because the evidence was mounting up, and Rusty didn't think it was just him being paranoid anymore.

Oh, Tess. This was going to just kill Danny.

He couldn't confront her here. The nosy neighbours again, and the last thing he wanted was to risk it getting back to John. No point in asking for trouble. He'd follow her; there was bound to be a better opportunity.

She trudged down the street and he made sure to stay as far behind her as he dared. After all, he knew she'd recognise him. Hadn't been _that_ long. And he watched her as she walked, and her shoulders were hunched, her head down...she was walking like she was trying to avoid drawing any attention at all, like she was doing her best to pretend that she didn't even exist. He recognised the posture from himself, long ago, and it _hurt_ to see her like that. She'd always been confident, always smiling. This...this just broke his heart and drove him to the heights of fury, all at once. 

She headed into a small shopping district and walked into a butchers. It was a small shop, only one way in and out that he could see_._He leaned against a streetlight, his hands stuffed in his pockets and waited.

After about ten minutes she came out the door, a paper bag clutched awkwardly in one arm.

She saw him and stopped dead, her eyes wide, disbelieving and frightened.

"Hi Tess," he said softly.

"R-Rusty?" she stuttered, backing away ever so slightly, her arm pulling tighter around the bag and around her chest, as if she was trying to protect herself. As if she was trying to protect herself from _him. _"W-what are you doing here?"

Her hair was unbrushed and unkempt, but her make-up was laid on too thickly, and he could still see the swelling around her eyes and mouth. More than that, her other arm was tucked inside her coat, and she wasn't quite standing up straight. He'd guess that she _couldn't _stand up straight. Inside, he was screaming. No pity, he told himself harshly. She saw pity right now and she'd run.

"You called me," he reminded her gently. "I was worried about you."

"But...but how did you find me?" she blurted out, and immediately she ducked her head, almost cringing away from him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

He smiled and pretended he hadn't noticed.. "I'm good at finding people, Tess.

She shook her head quickly. "I didn't mean to call you...you should go, Rusty. Please."

That wasn't going to happen. "Why don't you come have a cup of coffee with me?" he suggested instead. "We can get caught up."

With painful instinct, she looked around quickly. "I can't...I'm not supposed to..." She coloured and shook her head quickly. "I mean, I'm seeing someone now and he's expecting me home."

There was a sort of longing in her voice though and she wasn't looking directly at him, but whenever she shot a small, desperate glance at him, he could see the pain in her eyes, could see the way she was looking at him like she hardly dared believe he was actually there.

He wondered if she hadn't finished the call because she'd been frightened that even if she'd asked, he wouldn't help.

"I just want to talk, Tess," he said softly, his voice sincere. "Please. You can leave whenever you want to."

She bit her lip, worrying it harshly between her teeth, and he could see specks of blood, and he tensed, longing to tell her to _stop. _He couldn't though. He hadn't even acknowledged her injuries yet. He wanted to get off the street first of all. Wanted somewhere a little more private. Wanted to try and get her a little more comfortable with him, because he _couldn't _let her go back to John.

All this time he'd been trying to convince himself that he was being paranoid. Telling himself that he was letting his own experience colour the facts. That it wasn't going to be that bad. Only it _was. _

That bastard had hurt her. There was no doubt about that. That bastard had hurt her and it had been going on for over a year, by the sound of things, and Rusty had to make sure that Tess didn't even see a trace of the white-hot fury, because he didn't think she'd understand.

"Alright," she said at last.

He couldn't stop the smile of blinding relief and she blinked at him, confusion and uncertainty in her eyes, and then - very, very tentatively - she smiled back.

"I saw a diner down the street," he suggested. He'd passed it while he'd been looking for the house. It had looked clean and it had looked deserted, and those were his two main criteria right now. "What do you think?"

"Whatever you want is fine," she assured him quickly, and the smile had gone and she was staring down at the ground again.

He looked at her thoughtfully, and he didn't want to upset her by forcing her to make a decision, but he couldn't just accept the desperate submission either. "You ever eaten there before?" he asked.

"Y...yes," she stuttered, sounding like she was caught off guard. "Sometimes, if I get tired when I'm doing the shopping...it's quiet there."

"Good quiet?" he asked with a smile.

"Good quiet," she agreed, and the corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly

Two smiles. He felt his heart lighten ever so slightly at the hint that the woman he knew wasn't completely broken. "I'll trust you then," he said lightly.

Immediately the smile vanished, replaced with a look of fear and he cursed himself. Right. Because what would happen if she was wrong?  
>"Let's give it a try," he said hurriedly.<br>As they walked round to the diner, he noticed that she automatically walked a half step behind him.  
>Just as he'd seen through the window before, the diner was practically empty. The greasy-haired woman behind the counter looked at Tess in sharp recognition, before her eyes flickered over to Rusty and back. Obviously conclusions were being drawn, assumptions made, and he was aware of Tess withering back in the face of them.<br>"What would you like?" he asked her.  
>"Just a coffee," she whispered.<br>"A white coffee with half fat milk and one sugar, and a banana milkshake please," he said to the woman pleasantly. "Tess, you want anything to eat?"  
>She shook her head quickly, looking a little nauseous at the thought. Mmm. Really, he wanted to get her to a doctor as soon as possible.<br>"That's everything then," he said, passing the woman a fifty. "For privacy," he murmured, his voice low enough that Tess wouldn't hear, and the woman's eyes gleamed and she accepted the money eagerly.  
>He carried the drinks over to the furthest booth, tucked away from prying eyes and ears. "This okay?" he asked Tess and she nodded and quickly sat down in the seat that was facing the counter and facing the door.<br>That was where he'd normally sit.  
>With an effort, he didn't say anything. Even though this wasn't exactly the safest environment for them to be talking in, even though <em>he <em>wanted the line of sight, wanted to be sure that no one else was sneaking up on them, more than that, he wanted her to feel as safe and secure as possible. He remembered, after all, what it was like to never know where the next blow was coming from, to always need to be able to see the exit, to hate knowing that someone could come up behind him, to never feel _safe,_ not even for a second.  
>He would be extra vigilant. And he would protect her.<br>"You remember the way I take it," Tess said softly, stirring her coffee.  
>"Yeah," he agreed, and he wasn't sure what that meant to her, but he doubted it was anything bad.<br>"Did Danny send you?" she asked, almost inaudibly, and somehow, for some reason, he knew that _would _be bad.  
>"You called me," he reminded her quickly. "You called me so I came."<br>She was chewing on her lip again, and she'd cleared the lipstick away a little, and he could see the heavy cut it had been hiding, see the swelling that surrounded it.  
>He tried not to stare. Tried not to imagine the moment when the back of John's hand had smashed into her mouth. Tried not to imagine the split lip, the blood trickling down her chin. Tried not to imagine the dazed look of fear and pain and shame. But he saw it and he couldn't <em>stop<em>seeing it.

"I didn't say anything," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't...I should never have called you, Rusty. I'm sorry, it was stupid of me. I've moved on...I'm with someone else now."  
>"You said," he managed to say, trying to sound as neutral as he could.<br>Her hands were shaking, and she almost dropped the coffee cup, and she pushed herself further back into the seat, shrinking away from him. "I...Danny's in prison, and he lied to me, and we're divorced, and I moved on, I _had _to move on...I'm sorry. I'm sorry, _please..._"  
>She thought he was angry with him. She thought...here he was, Danny's best friend and she was living with someone else and she <em>thought...<em>God! And he supposed, maybe in different circumstances, if she'd found someone else he might have been upset on Danny's behalf. But it had been two years. And they were divorced. And right now, the idea of being angry with Tess...it was wrong and it was sickening.  
>"<em>Please,<em>" she said again, and he wondered darkly how many times she'd said that word in that voice and been ignored.  
>"That's not why I'm here," he assured her quickly. "Tess, I'm here because you sounded like you were in trouble and I wanted to help."<br>"I'm not in trouble," she said immediately, not meeting his eyes.

"You're hurt," he stated, and his voice was soft, but he said it clearly enough that she'd know that he _knew._

She shook her head desperately. "No, I...well, _yes, _but it's nothing, really. I slipped. I slipped and fell down the stairs yesterday, and I banged my face and my arm. That's all. It's nothing." The words fell over each other and she was desperately trying to convince him.

He sighed. "I don't believe you."

"Just because you're a liar doesn't mean everyone else is too!" She flinched as soon as she'd finished speaking, her eyes wide, and she sat tensed, waiting for the blow. "Don't..._please _don't..."

"I wouldn't," he told her immediately, and he let the horror in his voice at the _thought _ring out loud and clear. "Oh, Tess, I wouldn't. Not ever."

Still she wouldn't look at him and he thought maybe she didn't believe him. This had been going on a year. She'd been alone for a year and no one had tried to help her?

"I know what you're thinking," she said in a voice that trembled. "But you're _wrong._ John is a good man. He'd never hurt me."

He took a deep breath. "That's not true, is it?"

"It is," she insisted, and he could hear the shame in her voice.

"Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me he didn't beat you last night?" he asked her gently.

She looked up at him wildly, her chin raised defiantly, and shaking her head, she mouthed silent broken words of denial and protest for a long, halting second, before she broke off, burying her face in her hands. "He didn't mean to," she said, her voice muffled. "He just gets cross sometimes."

Very, very slowly, making sure she saw what he was doing, he reached across the table and placed his hand on hers, drawing it away from her face.

She looked at him uncertainly, but she didn't take her hand away.

He squeezed her hand gently. "He _hurts _you, Tess. There is no excuse. Not ever." His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles. "Last night you called me for help...please. Let me help you."

"I know he shouldn't hit me," she said hesitantly. "But honestly, Rusty, it's not that bad. I make him angry a lot, that's all. If I just – "

He couldn't bear to hear her talk like that. Couldn't bear to hear the doubt and selfblame. " – it's not your fault," he interrupted fiercely, and startled she jumped back, pulling her hand away.

"I should go," she said, making to stand up. "John is expecting me home...I have to cook these steaks for him." She bit her lip hard. "God, I haven't even cleaned the house. I'm so _stupid_. What am I doing here with you? If John sees us together, he'll get jealous." Her hands were twisting together frantically. "I...I need to go home and sort everything. He'll be home at seven, and he'll be angry and it'll all be my fault."

She was shaking, her eyes frightened, and she wouldn't even look at him.

He was losing her. She was going to walk away, go back to the bastard, and he didn't know _what_ he'd do then, but he _couldn't _just let her go.

"Tess, you _know _this isn't right," he pleaded desperately. "You shouldn't have to live like this. You don't have to be hurt or frightened. Let me help you. I'm begging you."

"_Why?" _she snapped, her voice cracking. "I didn't ask you for help, Rusty. You should go. Forget I called you. I shouldn't have called you."

"I can't do that, Tess," he said patiently.

"I don't have anywhere to go, Rusty!" she said with a choked sob. "Yes. Yes, he hits me. Is that what you want to hear? He hits me and he...and he _hurts _me, and I just _let_ him. Last night he was drunk and he beat me and, yes, I called you. I don't know why. But he took me home and he...and he..."

"Oh, Tess," he said, his heart breaking, and he reached out to take her hand again, but she pulled away.

"I don't have anywhere to go, Rusty," she said again. "I've got no job. No money...he took it all and he took my bank cards, and my drivers license... All I've got is what he gives me, and it's not enough to run on. I don't have anyone to turn to."

"You have me," he said, his voice full of determination. "I said I'd help you Tess. That doesn't mean I'll take you away and abandon you. Say the word, and I'll make sure you're _safe._"

"Why?" she asked again in a whisper. "Why would you help me? Is it...is it because of Danny?"

Yes. But that wasn't the whole truth and it wasn't the truth that she needed to hear right now. "You're my friend, Tess," he said, softly and honestly. "I want you safe. Is that really so hard to believe?"

She closed her eyes and her shoulders were shaking. "Alright," she whispered. "Alright, Rusty. I'll trust you. Take me away from here. Please."


	11. The Benedict Job 7

11th July 2001

* * *

><p>He'd ruined everything<em>. <em>

Tess sat at the bottom of the stairwell, her hands pressed hard against her face, covering her mouth and nose, and she couldn't breathe, and if she couldn't breathe she couldn't cry and she couldn't make a sound, and that was good, because if he heard her crying he'd still come after her...wouldn't he?

She had to get up now. She had to get up and go and have dinner with Terry and act like everything was just fine because they had a routine, and Terry expected her to be there and to be cheerful, and anything else was letting Terry down. But all she could do was sit here and shake, and she didn't know if she even had the strength to stand right now.

He'd ruined _everything_.

By this time she was almost certain that he wasn't going to come running after her, and that at least was a relief. Because if he'd followed her right now, if he'd touched her right now, she thought that she would start screaming and someone would _notice _and she'd just die of shame.

She honestly hadn't expected to see him. Not ever again. After all, she'd made her feelings clear at the time, and when she'd left...she'd half-expected him to chase after her _then. _Not a year later. She'd sat on that Greyhound, and every time she fell asleep, she'd wondered if he'd be sitting next to her when she woke up. And that was impossible, of course, but somewhere along the lines, she'd grown to expect the impossible.

(_Every time she'd woken alone, she'd felt a moment of misery and disappointment and loneliness._)

And then he'd just been _there._ Just standing there, watching her with that _look _on his face...concern and compassion hiding everything underneath, and all she could think of was the last time she'd seen him, the last time he'd looked at her that way, the night she'd learned the _truth. _

And she'd hit him.

Oh, God, she'd actually hit him. She'd punched him in the face..._three times, _for God's sake_..._and he hadn't dodged or defended himself at all, and she'd _known _he wouldn't hit her back. Whatever else he was, Rusty would never hurt her. She could have beat him all day and she doubted he'd have lifted a finger to stop her.

She remembered the blood on his face, remembered the look in his eyes, the flicker of satisfaction she'd felt, and she bit savagely into the flesh or her hand, sinking her teeth in until she tasted blood, and she wasn't going to throw up, she wasn't.

She'd hit him. The one man in the world that she trusted not to hurt her, and she'd hit him, and what did that make her?

A monster. She was a monster, just like him.

Maybe that was why he loved her.

She scrubbed at her face hurriedly, getting rid of the tears that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought.

She really did need to go now. Even if Rusty had said that Terry was going to be late - and she didn't doubt him - he'd be upset if she wasn't waiting for him. But whatever she did, Terry was going to be able to tell that she'd been crying, and that was bad too. Terry hated it when she made a scene, when she wasn't properly thankful. God, was Rusty _trying _to get her in trouble?

..._was _Rusty trying to get her in trouble? She froze and considered it carefully. What he'd said about Terry...maybe he was trying to get her to agree. Trying to show her that Terry wasn't right for her.

The thought had her biting down on her hand again in an effort to stifle the sob. Rusty had been watching her and Terry together, and seeing her relationship through his eyes...it was hell. She thought about the weary patience Terry treated her with, thought about the way he had to take charge of her, thought of all the little...helpful...comments, the way she overreacted to his every action, and she didn't _want _Rusty seeing that. She felt sick with shame. It wasn't _fair. _She'd been doing fine. Terry was a good man. Terry was a good man and he didn't hurt her, and Rusty had no right to walk back into her life and look at her like that.

She didn't need saving. She was hap...she was... Terry was a good man.

She rubbed at her arms, her fingers digging into the bruises.

Maybe she should make good on her threat. Tell Terry. That's what she _ought _to do. Really, her first loyalty should be to Terry, and Rusty was a criminal and a dangerous man, and he was in Terry's casino. Terry would be interested to know that. Would be _more _than interested to know that Rusty had been spying on them. And maybe there wouldn't be any evidence to get Rusty locked up, but Terry would at least be able to ban him from his hotels and casinos.

Probably, Terry would be pleased with her if she told him. He'd smile at her the way she liked. The way he smiled when she had his full attention and he approved. The corners of his eyes crinkled up, just a little. It made her feel warm inside.

And Rusty would be locked up and far away, and maybe that wouldn't make her feel any safer, but at least it would end the confusion.

Except she didn't want Rusty locked up. God help her, she really didn't. She _should _- she knew right from wrong, after all - but when she thought about him in prison she felt sick.

She still remembered late night conversations, the warmth of the blanket around her shoulders, the look in his eyes when he told her about being a child, locked in the basement and afraid. The feeling of his hand in hers when he tried to make light of it. She didn't want to be responsible for locking him up.

And didn't that just make her a hypocrite?

All the things she'd let him do. She'd let him steal, let him trick people out of their money, and it hadn't been like it had been with Danny. She'd_ known _what he was doing every step of the way. He'd told her and for a while she really hadn't cared. Because they needed the money, because the marks … _victims … _were unpleasant people, somehow she'd got into thinking it was all okay

_(It wasn't okay...right_?)

But now she'd seen him for what he really was. And she still wanted him safe and out of prison.

Danny was in prison.

The thought still stole up on her sometimes. Still took her by surprise, and now when she thought of Danny she couldn't help but think of the last time she saw him. Trapped and locked up and diminished, and yes, alright, _yes, _she'd never wanted that for Danny either.

She thought about him every day. She didn't want to, but she did. She thought about the way he smiled...(_smiles she didn't have to earn_)...thought about the way he touched her..._(touches that never hurt_)...the way he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world, like the world was made just for them. (_John looked at her like that too.)_

She missed Danny. She missed Danny so much.

But she'd missed John too. (_She still missed John._)

It was like Terry told her. When she gave in to her emotions, she was weak. She shouldn't let the way she felt influence what she did. Oversensitive, he called her, and he was right. She had to be pragmatic.

Danny was gone. John was gone. Rusty...Rusty _should _be gone.

Yes, things had been good when she was with Danny, but that had all been based on a lie. She had to remember that. Everything she'd felt for Danny...she had to weight that up against the knowledge that he had never trusted her. Every last moment of tenderness, love and affection was based on cold, clinical calculation. He must have weighed every last word and look and kiss, figuring out if it would give him away.

_Why? _She asked herself that all the time. Why had he done it? John had said that Danny had used her as a cover and sometimes, late at night, when she was dark and cold and not alone, sometimes she still wondered if he was right.

Rusty had said that wasn't it and the furious indignation had burned in his eyes, and she'd been so _scared _of him then. Back in those first days they'd spent together, when she'd been truly pathetic, and she'd fallen over herself to reassure him that she agreed, eagerly promising anything he wanted just to avoid his anger. And she'd seen the regret in his eyes, and afterwards she'd understood the fury hadn't been aimed at her, but it wasn't like she ever wanted to talk about Danny.

Still. Rusty had said Danny really did love her, and that was...comforting.

If he'd said he was a criminal she'd never have got involved with him. That really would have been the last straw. All her old fears proved right and she'd have turned round and _ran _in the other direction. She'd have known right away that he wasn't worth it.

Three years. Three unbelievable years of warmth and laughter and love.

All based on a lie, she reminded herself quickly. He should have told her.

If he'd told her, she'd never have dated him. Never have married him. She'd never have had to deal with the looks and pity and _hurt_ when he was arrested. She'd never have felt so alone. She wouldn't have left New York, wouldn't have met John, wouldn't have spent a year bruised and frightened. No, she'd still be in New York, in a job she'd loved, passing time in her apartment with her books and her art, alone and content.

She wished...

Danny was gone. He wasn't her problem.

Right now, Rusty was the problem. Rusty, and whatever misguided notion he'd got into his head about her and Terry.

He'd said she let Terry control her. Let Terry order her around, do all her thinking for her. And she thought about what he must have seen at dinner last night and she felt like she might just die of shame. It didn't seem likely that she'd be able to persuade him that he was wrong, but maybe she could convince him of the truth. She wanted things this way. Terry took care of her, kept her from messing up, kept her safe. The truth was she couldn't do anything right. Terry loved her enough to make her decisions for her.

She knew what she was doing.

Unfortunately, she didn't think she could persuade Rusty of that. Rusty wanted to save her and he wouldn't understand that Terry already had.

But she could show Rusty that Terry was good to her at least. If he saw _that _he'd have to concede. If he saw that even when she did mess up Terry didn't hurt her, he'd have to be reassured, wouldn't he? And then he'd leave and she could get on with trying to forget.

She was already late to meet Terry. Suppose...suppose she stood him up?

Frightened at the very thought, she bit her lip hard, trying to talk herself into it. She'd never been deliberately disobedient before.

But that was the point. She could show Rusty that she didn't _have _to obey Terry, that she wasn't frightened of him. She just chose to.

All she had to do was find someplace to hide for a few hours before she went back to Terry's...to _their _suite. Nothing bad would happen.

She was shaking now and she pressed her hand against her face again, trying to contain the fear and the panic. Terry had never actually hit her. There was no reason to think he would this time. He might insult her and he might be a little rough sometimes, but there was nothing actually wrong with that.

Everything would be fine. She'd show Rusty that everything was just fine.


	12. Two years earlier 4

**A/N: InSilva says I'm creepy...**

* * *

><p>January 16th 1999<p>

* * *

><p>Rusty smiled at her again and she felt herself relax in a way she hadn't in such a long time. This felt like a dream. Actually, she still wasn't entirely sure that it <em>wasn't <em>a dream. She barely remembered making the phone call. Barely remembered saying his name and hanging up immediately as common sense reasserted itself. But here he was, promising her the world. If it was a dream, she wasn't so sure she wanted to wake up.

Except it couldn't be a dream, could it? She was in so much pain right now, and when she dreamed the pain all melted away. Not that she had many good dreams anymore.

(_When she did, she dreamed of Danny and when she woke up she was crying._)

She hurt, therefore she was awake. Now there was a conclusion that Cartesians would be satisfied with.

Rusty was talking, she suddenly realised. She hadn't been paying attention and that was frightening.

"I've got a car outside," he was saying. "I figure our first step is to find somewhere to stay for tonight at least, then we can think about getting out of town."

That sounded...she didn't know. She kept her head down and nodded.

"I thought the airport Hilton?" he said, and he made it sound like a question.

"That's fine," she said, except she wasn't sure that it was. She tried her best to sound accepting and upbeat though.

She wasn't successful. She should have remembered how perceptive he was. "What?" he asked gently.

"If you're planning on flying...John still has my drivers license and my passport and everything, remember?" she blurted out, feeling stupid immediately. John hated that about her. Always pointing out flaws. Nagging, he called it.

"That's...not necessarily a problem," Rusty said slowly. "There are ways...we can work around it."

There were other things she should have remembered too. "Ways?" she asked quietly.

Rusty sighed. "The DMVis set up to handle this sort of situation. There are ways...we can get you more ID if the worst comes to the worst."

Oh. That hadn't been what she was thinking. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought..." She trailed off, blushing.

"You thought I was gonna say I could make you a false ID," Rusty said, smiling slightly. "'s okay. I can, and I would if we needed to. But I figured you'd want to keep things legit."

She breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't think she could deal with anything criminal on top of everything else. And yet she knew that if that had been what he'd decided, she'd never have had the courage to say no. Not anymore.

"Anyway," Rusty went on uncomfortably. "That's not the reason I was thinking of the airport. Thing is, when people are looking for someone, they might phone round the hotels in town. But they often forget the ones at the airport."

Oh, God. John was going to be looking for her. The thought was like a bucket of ice-cold water, drowning her fantasy of escape. And if he found her with Rusty he'd think...he'd _assume_... She swallowed hard, trying to fight the panic, but suddenly it was getting hard to breathe. "If he finds you with me he'll...he'll kill us both, and he always finds me, he always - "

" - Tess? Tess, look at me," Rusty said, and she looked and he was kneeling in front of her, like Danny had so long ago. "That's not going to happen," he vowed softly. "I'm not going to let him find you. I promise."

The car wasn't that far, but it was just far enough for her to remember how tired she was. Her head was aching and her ribs were throbbing and there was other, darker pain reminding her that she'd been sitting in one place too long.

"Here we go," Rusty murmured, holding the car door open for her and helping her inside.

"Thank you," she said stupidly, and she blinked foggily at the car. "It's nice."

He shrugged, and somehow he was settling himself into the drivers' seat beside her. "Hire car. Nothing special."

"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say, but he didn't seem to mind the silence as they drove off.

She tried to doze, but somehow, even though she was exhausted, she just couldn't manage it. Every time she closed her eyes, even for a second, she felt the panic growing, and she had to open her eyes, had to see, had to be certain what he was doing, that he hadn't moved towards her. And she hated that reaction, hated what it said about her...but she had to admit, she just couldn't be sure.

(_After all, she had just got into a car with a man she hadn't spoken to in over eighteen months, and she knew he was a criminal._)

A few times she caught him looking at her, and he didn't try to hide the concern and anxiety in his eyes. It actually made her feel a little better. Of course, John looked at her like that too.

Was she really doing the right thing here? Maybe she should have used this as an ultimatum. If they both knew she _could _leave, maybe that would have been enough to shock John into changing. Maybe she should have given him another chance. Or at least told him she was leaving.

She started chewing on her lip again, the doubt whispering through her, and she almost didn't notice when Rusty parked the car outside the hotel.

He turned to her with a serious expression on his face. "Tess...I'm sorry, but we need to check into the hotel under false names."

Oh. She could understand why they wouldn't use her name, they didn't want to be found after all, but... "Why not use your name? John doesn't know who you are, after all."

"No, but..." He sighed. "I'm signed as the witness on your marriage certificate. I was listed as Danny's next of kin for over ten years. You've got an album full of neatly labelled photos. Lines can be drawn, Tess. And all of this is completely unlikely, and it's a million to one chance that he'd ever think of it...but if there's something I can do which means that you're going to be even a little bit safer? I'm going to do it."

The sincerity was burning in his eyes and she looked away quickly. She didn't deserve... "Danny didn't like me labelling the photos," she said inconsequentially.

It had been soon after their wedding. She'd been sitting at the table, painstakingly going through stacks of photos, writing the date, the occasion and who was who on the back of each one in turn.

Danny had picked up one of them and Rusty, standing by the fountain, some ten minutes after the ceremony. "You really need to label this?"

She'd just looked at him. "I'm labelling everything."

"You think we're ever going to forget?" he'd asked lightly.

"In thirty years time, who knows." She'd been so certain they were in it for the long haul.

Rusty had been visiting, and he'd been lying on the sofa and he'd grinned at Danny. "I keep telling you. Don't question the process," he'd warned, and Danny had looked injured and indignant that Rusty was taking her side, and she'd laughed and given Danny a pot of paste and told him to make himself useful and...and...

Fun was far away.

"Danny doesn't like to think that anything important can change," Rusty said softly.

"It can," she whispered. "It has."

"Yeah." Rusty was gentle. He nodded towards the hotel. "Are you okay with this? The name's fake, but the credit card's real enough. Well, it works anyway. They'll be getting my money, I'm not talking about stealing from anyone."

That made it easier. In fact, that made it seem like they weren't doing anything wrong at all. Did it really matter what he called himself, after all?

"Okay," she said with a wan smile. "Let's go inside."

There was a line of people in front of the reception desk. They waited in silence and Tess could sense Rusty's impatience. He was standing absolutely still, and there was nothing showing on his face, but somehow she _knew _he was feeling frustrated.

"We could try somewhere else?" she suggested timidly, her tongue tripping over her words with nerves.

Startled, he looked across at her. "Nah," he said at once. "This won't take that long. I just want to get you somewhere you can lie down, that's all."

She nodded and tried not to consider his words too hard.

He was frowning at her slightly. "You want to sit down? You could go wait in the bar while I get things sorted here."

She shook her head quickly, not even considering it. Right now, he was the only familiar thing around and she could be strong in front of him. If she walked away, she thought she might break down and cry, or run home to John. And maybe, just maybe, if she let him out of her sight he'd vanish as easily as he'd appeared. Honestly, she didn't even know what she was afraid of, but she wanted to stick close to him right now.

"Okay, if you're sure..." he said slowly. "Shouldn't be long now."

Not long. And there'd be a comfortable room upstairs and she could sit down, maybe even take a bath. Get_ clean_. She thought of it longingly, as they shuffled forwards, and she was thinking about nothing more than sleep as the man in front of them had an argument with the desk clerk in low voices, and she didn't notice him turning round and storming off until too late, and she stumbled back as he crashed into her, and her legs vanished under her and she cried out as she felt herself start to fall.

Rusty was there in an instant, his arm wrapped around her waist, saving her. She flinched away from him violently, almost leaping away, and turning back to look at him, her heart in her mouth, fighting the urge to run.

"I...I'm sorry," she stammered, shamefully ducking her head.

"Hey," Rusty said patiently. "'s okay."

She felt like everyone was staring at her and she suddenly realised that they were next in line. Meekly she followed Rusty up to the desk and stood silently as he smiled dazzlingly at the desk clerks and started talking.

She was so _tired._And her head was pounding. Surreptitiously she leaned against the counter, trying to take the weight off her feet, trying to stay upright, and she was only vaguely aware of Rusty launching what she'd once referred to as a charm offensive. However, she did notice that it wasn't working as well as she'd expect. Maybe Rusty's false ID wasn't as good as he thought, but the clerks seemed to be exchanging glances with each other, shooting suspicious looks their way.

Suddenly feeling sick, she smiled anxiously at the female clerk. "I'm sorry, is there a restroom I could use?"

"Yes, it's just round the corner," the girl told her. "Uh, I could show you if you like?"

That didn't seem necessary...but her head was aching and she longed to splash some cold water on her face. Instinctively she looked to Rusty for permission.

He bit his lip. "You okay? You want me to come with you?"

"No...no, I'll be fine," she managed to say, and she followed the girl around to the restroom.

To her surprise the girl followed her inside and waited by the door until she was finished and she was washing her hands and dabbing her neck and temples with a cold compress, doing her best not to smudge her make-up.

"Ma'am?" the girl murmured, and, surprised, Tess met her eyes in the mirror. "Are you okay? If you're in trouble, we can call the cops."

Icy fear seized her and her knuckles were white as she gripped the side of the sink. "No! Please. I'm fine," she said, her voice shaking. No police. She didn't want to see the police. She didn't want any questions.

The girl looked disbelieving. "If he's threatening you, I'm sure the cops could do something. There's a panic button under the desk. They'd be here before he knew it."

For a moment she panicked, unreasoning terror running through her, wondering how the girl knew about John, wondering if John had somehow managed to get here ahead of them, was lying in wait. Then she suddenly realised what the girl was figuring, and she shook her head vigorously. "No! Oh, no. R...He's a friend. He's..." She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "He's helping me leave my boyfriend."

"Oh." The girl blinked and looked momentarily ashamed. "Oh, I guess he's a good guy then. I should've known. He's too cute to be a dirtbag."

"Yes," she agreed softly. She supposed he was a good guy. She owed him a lot. The very thought made her uncomfortable.

She followed the girl back round to the front desk and Rusty smiled on seeing her, bright and relieved. "Feeling better?" he asked softly.

"Yes, thank you," she agreed.

"I got the keys," he said, holding up a couple of keycards. "We've got a suite on the top floor."

"That's fine," she nodded, exhausted.

"Come on," he said gently, gesturing towards the elevator.

"We'll make sure you don't get any calls," the man on the desk called, and she noticed he was tucking a large wad of bills into his pocket.

"I appreciate it," Rusty said, over his shoulder, and then they were in the elevator and on their own, and she was swaying on her feet, and Rusty was hovering at her elbow, his hand out, ready to steady her but not _touching _and she was grateful.

She didn't remember the elevator stopping, didn't remember a corridor or a door. In fact, the next thing she was really aware of, she was lying back on a comfortable sofa and Rusty was handing her a glass of water, regarding her anxiously.

"Take small sips," he told her. "It should help you feel better."

Nodding, she held the glass to her lips, and it was cool and it did help revive her.

Rusty was crouched down on the floor beside her, and he rocked back onto his heels, watching her carefully. She looked back, waiting, uncertain. His hands were folded neatly on his knees, she noticed, held where she could see them. It made her wonder if it was deliberate...his whole posture was as unthreatening as she could imagine...but how could he _know?_

"I'd like you to see a doctor, Tess," Rusty said at last, his voice soft. "I think you need to."

"I'm fine," she said automatically.

"There are all sorts of definitions of fine," he told her, his lips quirked sadly. "Right now, I don't think you meet any of them."

She stared down at her hands. "I heal fast," she said in a small voice. "I'm sorry I lost it downstairs. It's just been a long day...I just need to rest, that's all."

"Rest is good," he agreed. "But I think you need more than that." He took a deep breath. "I don't know for certain...but your wrist looks broken to me."

For the first time she realised that she wasn't wearing her coat anymore. It was draped over the back of the chair and if she concentrated hard she could cut through the haze and vaguely remember Rusty helping her out of it. He'd been so gentle... And now all she was wearing was her sweater and pants, and she felt naked. The sweater sleeve was pulled up to her elbow - she hadn't been able to bear it pressing on her wrist and she'd thought the coat would hide it enough - and most of her forearm was purple and swollen and her wrist was twisted to the side. It looked ugly. It looked wrong. And Rusty had seen that, she realised with a dull sense of shame.

She didn't want anyone to see that.

(_John twisted her wrist up behind her back as he shoved her back inside the house and she heard the crack as he forced her down over the sofa and she screamed and he let go of her wrist, apologetic and incoherent, but then his hand was still on her back, his heel grinding into her, just below her shoulder blade, and he wasn't going to let her go._)

The bruises on her back throbbed worse than ever and she shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, trying to find a way that didn't hurt. "I don't want to," she said in a low voice.

"I know," Rusty said, his voice sympathetic. "Believe me, I know. Will you at least listen to what I'm thinking? Then we can discuss it, and you can make your mind up."

She didn't know that she had a choice. She didn't know that she _wanted _a choice. It might be easier if Rusty just dragged her to the hospital, if she didn't have to _think. _She nodded slightly. "Okay."

"Good," Rusty said, sounding relieved. "Okay. First option is, I take you round to ER and get you seen there. Advantage is it'll be quick - we'll probably be out in a few hours. But - "

" - no!" she cut in immediately, shaking her head violently. "No. I _can't._"

She'd had to go see a doctor a few times in the last year. John would take her to the ER in a fit of remorse and he'd sit beside her, clutching her hand tightly, and all the nurses and doctors would look at her and sigh and there were questions and she had to get undressed and let them examine her, let them _touch _her and then she'd go back home with John and he'd have a couple of drinks, complain about the cost, call it a waste of time, and that'd be an end of it till next time. But she _hated _the way the doctors looked at her. The ones who were short and brusque and didn't meet her eyes, and the ones who were well-meaning and contemptuous and told her she didn't have to live like this. She didn't think she could bear any of that. Not now.

Rusty was looking at her and she blushed darkly, and she couldn't explain - she knew he wouldn't understand - but she had to make him try. "They...I've been before and they ask all these _questions_,_" _she tried. "And they...it feels like - "

" - they look at you," Rusty cut in, his voice soft and understanding. "And you don't want them to."

"Yes!" she said gratefully, and that was it exactly.

Rusty nodded. "Okay then. The other option takes us a little further away from the normal way things are done, but I'm not talking about anything really _illegal._"

She bit her lip. "Like with the names for the hotel?"

"Yeah, sort of," Rusty agreed. "There's a friend of mine who's a doctor. He's a good guy. Very discreet. If I asked, he would come over to see you, he'd make sure you got all the treatment you need, prescribe any medication, and the only questions he'd ask would be medical ones."

"Isn't he going to want to know..." She gestured at herself awkwardly.

Rusty shook his head, his eyes intent on hers. "I ask him not to, then he won't have to know your name or how I know you, or what happened or _anything_. Complete discretion."

That sounded attractive. Sounded like she wouldn't have to put on an act, wouldn't have to worry about anything other than getting better.

"Only thing is," Rusty went on, "He is going to need some sort of hospital to treat you in. He's gonna want x-rays at least. And obviously if he finds anything serious, the ballgame changes. But if it's just x-rays and stuff, I can get us into a private clinic for the evening. Wealthy patient and her private doctor...it happens all the time. They won't ask questions for anything less than a gunshot wound."

"That's the part that's a lie," she said, and like before it didn't sound too bad. It sounded like something she could live with. She licked her lips. "Will your friend mind coming all the way out here?"

Rusty smiled. "Not at all," he assured her. "It's his job and he likes me. If I call him now and he can catch the next flight, he could be here in three hours or so. You want me to go ahead?"

Still she hesitated. "You've done so much...I don't want to put you to any more trouble. If it would be easier to just go to the ER - "

" - I don't care about what's easy, I care about what's best for you," he answered promptly. "You want me to call Stan?"

She nodded. "Please."

The smile was blinding and she thought she might never get used to seeing that again. "Thanks, Tess." He pulled the cellphone out of his pocket and dialled a number. It seemed as though the phone was answered almost at once. Necessary for a doctor, she supposed. "Hey, Stan, it's Rusty," he began. "Wondering if you could see your way to flying down to Philly this evening? Friend of mine needs a doctor as soon as." He paused and listened for a moment. "Thanks, that's what I figured...no, no one you know. This is a no questions call out, I'm afraid Stan. And no names either, so if you need me to pay extra that's"...he grinned and held the phone slightly away from his ear. "Alright, alright. Usual fee." Another pause. "She's been beaten up. I think her wrist is fractured, maybe her ribs. I'm not sure what else..." He looked over to Tess but she shook her head quickly. She didn't want to talk about it. "Yeah. Yeah, she's had a couple of dizzy spells...Just a sec," He covered the receiver with his hand. "You still feeling nauseous?"

"A little," she admitted, chewing on her lip.

"Yeah, a little," Rusty relayed into the phone. "I figured you'd need...yeah. No, I'll get a place, you get a flight and call me when you land. We can meet you there. Sound good?...Okay, see you then. Thanks, Stan."

He hung up the phone and looked at her. "Stan'll be here in a few hours," he told her. "He was heading straight to the airport."

She smiled dizzily at him, overwhelmed with gratitude. "Rusty, I..._tha -_"

" - you don't need to thank me," he interrupted gently. He stood up. "Now, I just got to make another couple of calls and then - "

Tess felt her heart freeze.

"You're not going to call Danny!" she said, the thought hitting her with all the force of a sledge hammer. "Rusty, you can't. _Please._"

There was a fraction of a second before he spoke. "I can't, Tess," Rusty reminded her soothingly. "He's in prison, I can't just call him up whenever I need to."

Needed to. Rusty would tell Danny, of course Rusty would tell Danny, when had they ever even tried to keep a secret from each other? And Danny would know everything. Danny would know just how well she'd coped without him. Danny would know that she was a mess, that she'd destroyed her life, and she'd jumped into bed with the first man ready to tell her what to do. God, she could imagine that appealing to his pride. Even if he was sympathetic, she was sure that deep down he'd feel like she deserved it. What she got for leaving him, after all.

She didn't want Danny to know what a mess she'd made of everything.

This was a mistake. This had all been a mistake. Why had she ever thought calling Rusty was a good idea? She should go home. Now, before John missed her. John might be...at least she understood the rules. At least she knew what to expect. With Rusty, nothing was certain.

She stumbled to her feet, backing away from him.

"No...no," she said shaking her head. "Don't call Danny. I should go. Yes, I'd like to go home now."

"Tess, you _can't_..." He held up his hand and it might have been meant to be a calming gesture, but all she heard was the frustrated tone, and all she saw was the upraised hand, and she flung her arm over her face instinctively, and white-hot agony flared through her wrist and she cried out and stumbled backwards, tripping over the sofa and falling to the ground, and it _hurt, _and instinctively she curled up tightly, struggling to protect as much of herself as possible, and sometimes just the sight of submission was enough to make John stop.

The hand hesitantly stroking through her hair cut through the panic. The hand and the soft voice, growing in certainty with every word. "'s alright. I promise, everything's gonna be alright. I'm here. I'm here and I'm not going to leave you. And no one's going to hurt you. Not ever again."

Guiltily, she stayed still and listening far longer than she needed to.

Presently she sat up, leaning away from him, trying to salvage as much dignity as she could. She couldn't even look at him. He must think she was such an idiot.

"Tess. You don't really want to go back to John, do you?" His voice was soft and worried.

She struggled with the thought for a moment. John was...he really could be incredibly sweet. When he wasn't drunk, when he wasn't angry. She loved that man and she wanted to run home, wanted to let him take her into his arms, look after her. But those times were few and far between, and she thought of the shouting, thought of the wild fury in his eyes, thought of all the things that might set him off, thought of the _pain_.

"No," she said at last. Not now, anyway. Maybe in a few days. If she got fixed up a little, maybe staying away for a while would be enough to shock John into changing his ways.

The sigh of relief was audible. "Thank you," he said, and a second later there was a hand on her shoulder, rubbing hesitantly. She jumped a little, but it didn't hurt. In fact, it felt...it was all she could do not to turn round and cling to him.

All he wanted was to keep her away from John, and she really did think that was mostly for her sake, and in a way, that made the next bit worse. "I will though," she said, and she was proud when her voice didn't tremble.

His hand stopped dead. "What?"

She stared down at the floor, eyes burning. "If you tell Danny, I'll walk out right now and go back to John," she threatened.

He moved away from her. "Tess - "

" - promise me, Rusty," she said desperately, and she hated this, hated doing this, but she didn't have a choice.

"I promise," he said woodenly.

She bit her lip hard. She didn't hate him for it the way she hated Danny, but he'd lied to her too. "Not good enough," she said, looking up at him wildly. He could make a thousand promises, but how could she believe him? "Swear on something that matters."

He looked at her.

What mattered most to Rusty? There was really only one answer. "Swear on Danny's life," she demanded, hardly believing what she was saying.

"Tess - " he began, shaking his head.

" - I'll go back to John," she reminded him, and she meant it. She didn't want Danny knowing about this. Not ever. And if Rusty wouldn't promise then she couldn't trust him. She _needed_ to know she could trust him.

For a long moment he looked her straight in the eyes, and then he nodded. "Alright. I promise on Danny's life that I won't tell him anything about this_." His_ voice trembled.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Alright," he said, standing up slowly and holding out a hand to help her up. She glanced at it for a second, then looked down at the ground and, using the sofa behind her for support, carefully staggered upright on her own. Rusty didn't react. "There's some painkillers in my bag. Stan said it would be okay to give you those. And we can get some ice for your wrist and face at least. Other than that..." He shrugged and rubbed at his mouth absently. "Be a few hours till Stan gets here. You could try and get some sleep."

Sleep sounded good. At his gesture, she sat down on the sofa and watched him carefully as he retrieved a bottle of tylenol from his case and another glass of water.

He didn't _seem _angry with her but she couldn't be certain. When she thought of the way she'd spoken to him it was all she could do to hide the trembling. She'd made demands. Argued with him. When she spoke to John like that, he called her...well, he called her a lot of things. Proud and stuck-up and nagging were the only ones she could really stand to repeat. And she didn't know what Rusty was thinking but...actually, that was the problem. She didn't know what Rusty was thinking. He was so controlled, so self-contained. Maybe if he _was _angry with her, she'd never know until too late.

"Here," he said, hovering over her awkwardly. "Take these." He shook three pills out onto her hand and she cautiously swallowed them one by one, her hand shaking so bad she almost spilled the water. God, she was tired.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely, and somehow she was just as uncertain with him now as she first had been.

He smiled at her for a second and then walked towards the door. "Ice," he explained laconically. "I'll be back in a minute."

It was funny. He must have been gone for less than ninety seconds. But the room was so much colder when she was on her own.

"Here we go," he said, walking back into the room with a bucket and expertly making up an icepack with a bundle of napkins. He sat down on the sofa beside her and took her arm in his hand, pressing the ice against her wrist as lightly as possible.

She caught her tongue between her teeth. It was so cold, but after the first shock wore off it felt good. Numbing, and numb was very good indeed. She wished she didn't have to _feel._

"Your face as well," he said, looking at her carefully. "Think we'll need to take your make-up off first though."

Of course. She winced a little, not wanting to think what she must look like. "If there's bruises or anything, John doesn't like to see," she felt compelled to explain. "He likes me to cover up." And she liked it too. If she could just hide the evidence, it was like nothing bad had ever happened.

"Right," Rusty said, concentrating on her wrist, ducking his head so she couldn't see his eyes.

She bit her lip. "It makes him feel guilty," she went on, trying to soften him just a little, trying to defend John. "He really doesn't mean to hurt me."

"If he didn't mean to hurt you, he wouldn't hurt you," he said, as if it was that simple.

For a moment, she hesitated. "Danny hurt me," she pointed out, and he looked up quickly. "When he lied to me...when he went to prison...Danny hurt me. Did _he _mean to?"

"I know he hurt you," Rusty acknowledged slowly, watching her. "But it's not the same...deliberately hitting someone is different than - "

" - deliberately lying to them?" she cut in, and shocked her hand flew to her mouth, pressing against her lips like she could somehow take the words back.

"Tess..." He shook his head. "Danny loves you. Hurting you was the last thing he ever wanted to do."

"John loves me," she told him in a whisper.

She wasn't sure that he believed her, but he nodded anyway, like he was trying to accept it. "That doesn't mean you need to put up with him hurting you," he said, and she wasn't even sure which of them he was talking about. He stood up, while she was still puzzling it over, and when he came back there was a warm flannel in his hands, and he knelt on the sofa beside her, his hand pressed lightly against her face, and the flannel dabbing over her.

He was so gentle. So tender. She found herself leaning in close to him, her eyes closed, and right at that moment, she never wanted him to leave.

Somehow, somewhere along the lines, between the painkillers, her exhaustion and the inexplicable comfort that Rusty provided, she managed to fall asleep.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, please review.<strong>


	13. Two years earlier 5

**A/N: At this stage in the fic, there's likely to be slightly more past than present. Hey. At least I'm not writing the future too. :) **

* * *

><p>It must have been hours later when she woke, because it was getting dark and the room was only lit by the flickering lights from the muted television. She looked round quickly and saw Rusty sitting on the floor in front of it, leaning back against the side of the chair.<p>

He hadn't left. She honestly couldn't say whether or not she was surprised.

She struggled to sit up and the pain in her ribs flared up all over again and she gasped.

Rusty looked round immediately. "Tess? You alright?"

"Yes," she said, biting her lip, her hand pressed into her side, and she managed to find a way to sit that didn't exacerbate anything. "What time is it?"

"Coming up for half seven," he said with a shrug. "I was just thinking about waking you. We'll need to head out soon. Stan texted a minute ago; his plane just landed. He'll meet us in the lobby."

John would be home by now. He'd have realised she was missing. God, what would he think? Would he assume she'd run away again or would he think something had happened to her? She hadn't taken any of her things this time. Maybe he'd think she'd just got caught up somehow. Or met someone else. Or been in an accident...Would he...would he be _worried?_

Either way, he'd be looking for her. She knew that.

This would be the second night in a row that he'd had to go out looking for her.  
>Right now she should be at home, serving John his dinner, hoping that it was going to be a good night, hoping that he wasn't going to drink, hoping, <em>praying... <em>"Okay. Thank you, Rusty." She cleared her throat awkwardly and glanced at the television. "What are you watching?"

"No idea," he said cheerfully.

Oh. Of course. The sound was off. He must have not wanted to risk waking her. She bit her lip. "You shouldn't have...I mean, you didn't have to...I don't want you putting yourself out for me anymore than you already have."

"It's fine. It's more fun this way," he said with an easy grin.

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

He glanced at the TV. It was some Western film she guessed. There seemed to be some confrontation going on between two groups of cowboys in a dusty cellar. "Well, me and the boys here ain't never going to not leave 'til we get our hands on your chocolate fudge cake recipe," he drawled in time with the lead cowboy. The picture cut to the other side while he was talking. "Never!" he said quickly in a slightly higher pitched Texan accent. "That recipe is between me and Martha Stewart. See? I'm so serious I'm going to take my hat off and shake it at that there jar of pickled beets."

It took Tess a moment to realise she was laughing. "Wait, I think I have the recipe in my holster," she said, joining in for another cowboy. "Let me just...oh, no, all I've got is this gun."

"Ha!" Rusty added. "You don't have the recipe? I'm going to squirt marinara sauce at you. And I know you're allergic."

"I'm so allergic I'm going to fall over now," Tess finished, as the cowboy fell over, and it really didn't look like any blood she was used to. Marninara sauce about had it. She was still smiling and she didn't know if she felt like laughing or crying. Such a long time since she'd done anything silly. She wasn't really that sort of person; Danny was the only one who'd ever brought out that side of her. But now...just laughing in spite of everything. Her nails dug into the palm of her hand; she wasn't going to cry. She didn't want Rusty to see her crying.

Taking a deep breath she smiled at him. "Shouldn't we be heading downstairs?"

"Yes," he agreed, and he stood up and held out her coat. "Here. Let me help you."

She pulled the coat tight around herself and brushed her hair over her face, but without the make-up hiding the bruises she felt exposed. Naked, even. Everyone was going to look at her.

"Just a second," Rusty said, turning away and rummaging in his case. "Ah!" He stood up again, holding a pair of sunglasses. "Would these help?"

Yes. Oh, God, yes they would. She nodded thankfully and slid them on, and at least they covered _some _of it.

"You don't have anything to be ashamed of," he told her quietly. "But I understand how you don't want to be looked at. I swear, I'll make sure we're outside as little as possible."

She nodded again, and she almost believed he really did understand what she was going through.

"Come on," he said, gesturing towards the door. "Let's get this over with."

Rusty's doctor friend was waiting for them in the lobby when they went downstairs, standing next a large rubber plant, out of the view of the front desk. He smiled when he saw them. "Rusty. Nice to see you again."

"And you," Rusty nodded, before turning to her. "This is Stan. Stan, this is the friend I told you about."

"Tess," she said, holding out her hand, because she didn't want questions and she didn't want to feel like the doctor knew her - particularly since he almost certainly knew Danny - but she could share her Christian name.

"Good to meet you, Tess," Stan replied warmly, looking her over carefully, and she felt herself shrinking away, but there was no judgement in his eyes at least, and his eyes lingered on her face, and the arm she had cradled against her chest. "Rusty told me you've been hurt. I'm here to take a look and get you fixed up. Is that alright?"

"Yes," she managed to say into the expectant silence, and she wasn't used to being consulted all the time and she wasn't even sure if she liked it. It reminded her of everything she tried to forget.

"I've got a car out front," Rusty told Stan. "We can just get going."

She ducked her head as they walked past the front desk and she was still painfully aware of the looks the desk clerks were giving them, even though Rusty was walking beside her, shielding her from view. As far as she could tell, they were just curious. The girl in the restroom had probably been gossiping. God, that was the last thing she wanted. And Stan was walking a step behind them and she was constantly aware that she couldn't see him, that she didn't know what he was doing, and it frightened her.

It was a relief to get out to the car.

"So where are we going?" Stan asked from the backseat as Rusty pulled out of the lot.

"Hawthorn Clinic," Rusty said. "It's uptown a ways. Exclusive, but it looks like they've got all the facilities you could possibly want. They're expecting a Ms Danova, her private doctor and her PA to arrive this evening. Far as they're concerned, Ms Danova owns a couple of newspapers, so they're going to be discreet."

That was a lot of lying. She shifted uncomfortably.

Rusty glanced at her. "Sorry, Tess," he said softly. "You want to avoid attention this is the way it's gotta be. The clinic aren't losing out. They've been well compensated for their time."

Oh. He'd spent more money on her. Immediately she felt ashamed and ungrateful and uncertain. She cleared her throat. "How did you set this up?"

"While you were asleep," he explained, his eyes back on the road. "Told you I had to make a few calls."

That couldn't be all it took. He'd gone to all this effort...Really, he didn't have to. She might hate the idea, but she surely could have coped with just going to the ER. It was what she was _supposed _to do, wasn't it? Just because she wasn't comfortable...all this effort and she didn't know _why?_

The staff were all smiles and gushing enthusiasm when they arrived at the clinic, and Tess vaguely got the impression that they were hoping for some kind of donation in addition to whatever money Rusty had already given them.

Rusty had told her to just stay quiet and look impatient, and he somehow managed to politely cut through greetings and introductions and get them taken through to an empty consulting room in the back of the building.

"I'll wait outside, if that's okay?" he said, speaking only to her. "Give you some privacy and make sure no one comes in."

Unconsciously, she glanced uneasily from him to Stan. She didn't want him there. But she didn't want him to leave either, and she didn't want to be alone. "Rusty..." she begged, not even sure what she was asking for.

He took a step closer and gently laid his hand on her arm, and she tensed instinctively, but it didn't hurt. Didn't hurt at all. "Look. Stan's a good guy. You can trust him absolutely. But all you gotta do is call and I'll come running."

She believed him, and that was a little reassuring at least, but she still wasn't _sure._

"Right." He was looking at her carefully. "Would you rather I stayed here? I'll sit on the other side of the curtain, but I'll be right there."

That sounded better. Relieved, she nodded, before quickly turning to Stan. "If that's okay, I mean?"

Stan smiled reassuringly. "It's not my call to make. If you want Rusty to stay then that's what happens." He pulled the curtain back and indicated the couch. "Why don't you take a seat?"

She went where he pointed automatically.

The examination was thorough and professional, and Stan asked questions gently, and none of them were about anything other than her injuries. Nothing about _how _or _why _or _what did you do to deserve this_. There wasn't even any contempt or pity in his eyes and she was thankful.

As much as she hated it, she didn't hesitate to strip when he told her to and she looked away, not wanting to look him in the eyes. She hated being naked. She hated looking at herself. Her body was a mess, mottled patchwork with cuts and bruises. People always said black and blue, but really it was more like purple and red, fading to a dull yellow. It was...ugly. _She _was ugly.

Stan gave no visible reaction. He _was _a doctor. Perhaps he'd seen worse. But he checked her wrist, wrapped her ribs, cleaned and dressed all the little cuts and scrapes, stitched the angry gash on her back where she'd landed awkwardly on the coffee table, and the other on her knee where she'd knelt on the broken bottle, and he did all that without making any comment at all. And he was gentle. She felt like crying.

He stopped when he reached the bruises and cuts on her hips and thighs, and she shrank away, pulling her arms down futilely to hide herself.

"This won't take long," he said gently. "I just want to finish treating you. Is that okay?"

Silently, she nodded and sat back, her cheeks burning.

When he was finished he stood up and passed her a gown and she pulled it on hastily. "Do you need emergency contraceptives?" he asked softly, an uneasy glance towards the curtain.

Oh, God, he thought...Like the staff at the hotel and she shook her head frantically. "It wasn't...I mean, Rusty didn't..." she started to say in a whisper.

Stan held his hand up quickly. "I know. I know," he said appeasingly. "That's not what I'm worried about," he added in a dark mutter.

She didn't understand. But right now it didn't feel like it mattered. "I'm fine," she told him. "I'm on the pill." John had insisted early on. Even before she'd moved in. He didn't like the feeling of condoms.

"Okay," he nodded, scribbling a note. "I'd like to take a few more blood tests though, to screen for STIs. Not without your permission, obviously?"

"I should be fine," she demurred, but she wasn't quite certain. As far as she knew John had never cheated on her. But sometimes, when he'd been especially angry with her, he'd made a point of reminding her of all the other girls he could be sleeping with. He'd say that if she wasn't good to him he'd just go out right now and find someone new. Someone prettier. Someone smarter. Someone who wasn't _her. _She didn't think he'd ever actually gone through with it, but she couldn't know for certain.

_(She felt diseased anyway.)_

She sighed. "Go ahead," she agreed meekly.

"We're nearly done," he told her comfortingly as he drew blood. "What's going to happen now is we're going to go round and get some x-rays taken. Then I'll set your wrist, if I have to, and I'll write you out a couple of prescriptions. I'll give you a call about the tests in a few days..." He hesitated. "I'll need a contact number?"

"I don't..." She shook her head helplessly. "I don't have a number."

"That's okay," he said immediately. "We'll figure something out. There," he added, dabbing at her arm with an antiseptic wipe. "All done." He smiled at her. "I'll leave you to get dressed now, Tess."

He stepped out from the curtain, closing it behind him immediately, and she dressed quickly, aware of the hum of low voices. Stan talking to Rusty. She wondered what he was telling him.

At least Stan had told her she could get dressed. She'd thought she might have to walk through the clinic in the paper gown and that would have been unbearable. Not that her clothes were much better, really. Stale with sweat and blood, they clung to her uncomfortably, and she longed to change them, but she _couldn't. _Unless she went back to John, literally all she had were the clothes she stood up in. She had _nothing_ and it was terrifying.

She bit her lip hard and scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, willing the tears away. It wouldn't do to cry. After everything...she didn't want to be ungrateful.

When she emerged Stan was nowhere to be seen and Rusty was sitting in the chair by the door, eating a twinky. He looked up when he saw her and, with a guilty expression, quickly stuffed the remains of the twinky into his pocket. "How are you doing, Tess?" he asked, as he stood up.

"I'm fine," she answered automatically.

He looked at her patiently. "The right answer isn't always the right answer," he said softly.

She understood what he meant. But it was easier..._safer_...to tell people what they wanted to hear. It always had been, since long before John. And his gentle insistence - concern - reminded her of Danny and reminded her of John, and surely there came a time when she should just stop leaving herself open to the hurt. And yet his eyes were anxious and understanding...

"I'm _tired,_" she admitted quietly, ducking her head. "And...and it hurts. And I don't know what's going to happen and..." She trailed off.

"It frightens you," Rusty finished.

"Yes," she agreed shamefully.

He nodded slowly. "Try not to think too far ahead at the moment. Right now, I'm thinking we follow Stan round to get the x-rays, get finished here and head back to the hotel. We should stay there for a few days at least, I think. Then once you're on the mend, we can discuss what happens next."

A few days. A few days of peace and reprieve. She could live with that.

Rusty caught her eye. "Hey. Whatever you decide to do, I'm not abandoning you. You have my word, remember?"

She relaxed a little, losing tension she hadn't even been aware of. "Okay. So we should follow Stan?"

"Yeah," Rusty agreed with a smile, holding his arm out, and somehow it was the most natural thing in the world for her to take hold of it and lean on him.

She wasn't sure exactly what Stan had said, but neither the radiographer, or the nurse who assisted him as he set her wrist said a word to her. They just got on with the work and she felt safe and invisible. And Rusty was there all the time and that was even better...but she shouldn't be thinking that way. She shouldn't be relying on him like this, shouldn't be counting on him to make her feel safe. Not that he hadn't been wonderful, because he _had, _every step of the way, but she knew he'd get tired of her clinging to him soon enough. And that _wasn't _just to do with the things John told her; she remembered Rusty from before. He didn't do stable and he didn't do commitment and he certainly didn't waste his time with anyone stupid and weak and helpless. She had to keep that in mind.

"There you go," Stan said, as he finished the plaster cast. "That needs to stay on for at least six weeks. I can take it off for you then, or you can go to another doctor if you'd rather. My card is in there." He nodded to a paper bag. "Medications. I've got you painkillers and an antiinflammatory. And a refill prescription for both in case you need it. But give me a call if you have any questions, or when you need the plaster removed." He hesitated, glancing briefly at Rusty before looking back to her. "I'd still prefer to have a contact number for you..."

"You've got my cell," Rusty said promptly. "I can pass the phone over, no problem. If that's alright, Tess?"

"That's fine," she agreed tiredly. Right now, she didn't much care about anything.

"Okay then," Stan nodded, sounding relieved. "Then I think we're done. You're heading back to the hotel, I take it? Can you give me a lift to the airport?"

"Sure," Rusty said, a smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks, Stan. Now lets get out of here before the manager starts asking questions."

She dozed off in the car and didn't wake up until Rusty pulled up outside the departure lounge.

"Thanks," Stan said, gathering his bag together. "Tess, I'll be phoning to check on you tomorrow. And call me immediately if you notice anything unusual, or if the pain gets worse."

"Of course," she lied sleepily. She wouldn't bother him like that, not if she could help it. And she could certainly handle the pain.

"Here you go, Stan," Rusty said, passing a thick brown envelope into the back seat.

Stan glanced inside and shook his head. "Oh, that's..." He froze, looking at Rusty's face, but when Tess turned round to see for herself, Rusty was smiling calmly and she couldn't see anything that would give Stan pause. And yet Stan sighed and glanced at her. "That's fine, Rusty." He reached for the car door. "I'd better go check in."

Rusty nodded. "See you later, Stan. Thanks. I owe you."

A second, and Stan sat back inside the car, leaning forwards earnestly. "There was..." Stan hesitated. "I wanted to say...Look, I heard about Danny. I'm sorry."

Danny. Tess immediately turned away, hunched against the door. She didn't want to think about Danny. She didn't want to know. She _didn't._

"Thanks," Rusty said shortly, his voice remote, and obviously he didn't want to have this conversation either.

"Yeah," Stan said uneasily, the grimace clearly audible in his voice. "I know you don't want to hear it from me, but I wanted to let you know I was thinking of you. You and Danny."

She could hear the sympathy. The concern. Danny was locked up and alone and it _hurt._

There was a pause and she knew Rusty wasn't looking at her. "We appreciate it, Stan," he said, and his voice was soft and sincere. "Thanks."

"Yes, well. I'd better get going. Don't want to miss my flight." He hurried out of the car.

"Sorry, Tess," Rusty said regretfully. "Stan didn't know - "

" - I know," she cut in quickly. She just hadn't fully appreciated that any friend of Rusty's would be a friend of Danny's too.

Rusty sighed. "Let's get back to the hotel, huh? You need some rest."

That sounded good. They drove round towards the hotel and she fidgeted uneasily. "It was better," she blurted out at last. "Seeing Stan instead of going to the ER, I mean. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," he said. "Anything I can do, I'll do."

She nodded silently, and the feeling of disquiet hadn't faded. He was doing so much. It wasn't _fair._

To her surprise, the girl she'd talked to in the restroom was waiting in the lobby for them. She sprung to her feet the moment she saw them, or rather the moment she saw Rusty.

"Oh! Mr Deagan. Here you go." She held out two or three carrier bags towards Rusty expectantly.

"Thanks, Lia," Rusty said, smiling as he took them. "You could've left them behind the desk, you know. Your shift finished two hours ago, didn't it?"

"Yes, well," Lia shrugged. "I wanted to make sure you got everything okay."

"Thanks," he said again, reaching into his pocket. "And here you go."

She took the proffered bills, blinking. "You said a hundred!"

Tess glanced at the money in the girls hand. That was more than a hundred dollars. A lot more.

Rusty shrugged. "Think of it as a tip. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"_Thank you_, Mr Deagen," she breathed. "I'll let you and your friend get upstairs." She shot Tess a look that was full of sympathy and pity, before she headed for the door.

"Come on," Rusty said, leading her towards the elevator.

She didn't quite dare ask, but she was looking at the bags all the time they were standing in the elevator, and as soon as the room door closed behind them, Rusty laid the bags on the table and nodded towards them. "I got Lia to go out for a couple of changes of clothes for you and some toiletries." He sounded uncomfortable. "Just stuff I thought you'd need. I don't want to be intrusive, I just wanted you to be comfortable."

She opened the bags and peeked inside. Clean, fresh clothes. Pants, blouses, underwear...a pair of comfortable-looking flannel pyjamas. A hairbrush. Deoderant. A toothbrush. Soaps and moisturisers. Some make-up.

Oh, _God. _For a moment she was sure she was going to start crying. And there was a roaring noise inside her head that suggested if she started she might never stop. Eyes burning, she stared into the bag, her fists clenched tight and for the longest time she didn't dare move.

"Tess..." Rusty began, sounding concerned and even a little frightened. "Tess, I'm sorry if - "

The spell broken, she flung herself into his arms and held onto him tightly. "Thank you," she said into his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you..." She was shaking, and she had to try and explain. "You didn't...no-one's _ever..._"

"Hey. 's okay," he soothed her softly, and he was holding her, his hand stroking tenderly through her hair. "It's okay."

After a while she calmed, but she didn't move away.

"You know, Lia actually did most of the work," Rusty told her lightly. "All I did was give her a list."

"And a lot more money than she was expecting," she retorted.

He shrugged. "Someone goes out of their way to do me a favour, I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure they're paid back, one way or another. That's only fair."

Yes. She supposed it was. Suddenly the room felt a lot colder.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading, please review.<strong>


	14. Two years earlier 6

**A/N: Yes, I know there's been several chapters in the past now. There might be a plan. :) **

* * *

><p>"Alright," Rusty said brightly. "You feeling hungry?"<p>

She thought for a second and shrugged helplessly. "I'm not sure," she admitted. Food was far from her mind.

"You should probably try and eat something if you can," Rusty told her. "Healing takes a lot of energy. And you probably shouldn't take those pills on an empty stomach."

That was true. But right now she wasn't sure if she had the strength to actually eat. But Rusty was looking hopeful. "I'll try," she promised.

He smiled. "Good. You want to take a shower?"

A shower. Oh, that sounded _wonderful. _A bath would be even better, but she knew she needed to keep her dressings as dry as possible, and that would be easier in the shower. She smiled and nodded.

"Sit down and take a look at the room service menu," he said, passing it over. "I'll go sort out the shower."

Vaguely she wondered what he meant, but obediently she sat down and looked at the menu as she'd been told.

Somehow, she found herself wondering what John had done about dinner. She hadn't been there to make it for him and the thought sent a shiver of guilt through her. Really, she should have told him she was leaving. Not face to face, she wasn't that stupid, but she could've left a note, or phoned or _something. _He'd still have been angry, but it would have been the more considerate thing to do. She hoped he wasn't worrying about her...

"Any thoughts?" Rusty asked, reappearing.

"Just some soup. Please," she said, handing the menu back.

"Just soup? You sure?" he repeated.

"Yes," she nodded firmly. Soup at least she was fairly certain she could eat without it making a reappearance.

"Sure thing." He smiled. "I'll get that ordered, if you want to take your shower now." He hesitated. "Don't lock the door please," he said with a grimace. "Sorry, Tess, but right now it would be far too easy for you to fall and hurt yourself. I swear I won't even _think _about coming in unless you shout, or I think you need help."

_Thought _she needed help. She nodded nervously and reminded herself that if he really wanted to, a locked door wouldn't stop him _any_way. Really, she was at his mercy and so far she'd been fortunate that he was so very merciful.

When she walked into the bathroom, the shower was already running and there was a towel laid out, along with a bathrobe, the pyjamas and a pair of slippers, all within easy reach so she wouldn't have to bend down. All the soaps and shampoos had been carefully laid out, the tops removed so she could easily use them one handed.

More small kindnesses. She felt so guilty.

She spent a long time in the shower, luxuriating in the hot water as it soothed her aches and pains. And even better, it made her feel almost _clean. _

Getting dressed was uncomfortable and awkward. At least there weren't any buttons, but it took forever to get the cast through the sleeve. She almost considered asking Rusty for help, but then she really didn't want to do that. It took pyjamas and the bathrobe before she felt close to comfortable walking out the bathroom door, and even then she hesitated for a long moment.

The roomservice had arrived. She must have taken even longer than she'd thought.

Rusty smiled at her. "Feeling any better?" he asked solicitously.

She nodded truthfully. "Yes, thank you."

"Good." He nodded towards the tray on the table. "The soup's tomato and lentil and I got you a sandwich too. Don't feel you have to force yourself to eat it though, it was just in case you started eating and felt hungrier. And I got you a mineral water and some hot chocolate." His smile was surprisingly uncertain. "That is okay, isn't it?"

She nodded again. "Yes. Thank you." She was starting to feel like a recording. Without another word she sat at the table and unthinkingly waited until Rusty picked up his fork before starting to eat. He noticed. She knew he noticed, and cheeks burning she stared down at her soup. It was politeness, that was all.

The soup tasted amazing. Rich and warming, and she managed to eat most of it and a couple of bites of the sandwich too. Rusty was eating a burger and fries like he hadn't seen food for a week.

A thought crossed her mind and she tensed guiltily. He hadn't eaten in the diner this afternoon, and she didn't think he'd had anything while she'd been sleeping, and before that he must have been working hard to find her. "Have you eaten today?" she asked in a small voice.

He hesitated for a long second, and his fingers were rubbing around his mouth uncomfortably. "No," he said at last apologetically. "But that's not your fault and it's not a problem. Whatever D..." He stumbled, pausing for barely a fraction of a second before continuing smoothly. "Contrary to popular opinion, I can go more than two hours without eating something."

Yes, but he hadn't eaten all day. Because of her. And whatever he said, the guilt was looming large. "You shouldn't have...you shouldn't have to starve because of me."

He snorted. "That is decidedly overdramatic," he told her lightly. "And you are far more important, Tess. You have to know that."

She looked away quickly, but there was something else... "You didn't lie," she said, dawning wonder in her voice. Because if he wanted her to be comfortable he could have lied to her. For her own good, but a lie was a lie.

"Yeah..." He swallowed hard and looked at her sincerely. "I think you've had enough men lying to you, Tess. I'm not gonna do that."

She looked back at him and he seemed to mean every word, and no one had ever promised _that _before. And he'd told the truth. She didn't think he'd lied once.

Of course, if he didn't want her to be comfortable...if he wanted her to be guilty and indebted, then he would have told her the truth too.

But he had told her the truth before, in the dark days immediately after she'd found out about Danny. He'd come to the house and he'd been honest, serious and gentle, and he'd told her that Danny...that both of them...he'd told her what they did. What they'd always done. It had _hurt _but it had been the truth, and he'd said he'd tell her anything she wanted to know.

She'd asked him to leave and never come back.

That had been the last time she'd seen him till today.

She looked away from him for a long moment, concentrating on the hot chocolate in her hand, trying to let her mind go blank, trying to think of _nothing _the way she did when John was lecturing her.

It was no use though. The thoughts kept creeping in. The doubts and uncertainties and the guilt.

Rusty had been so _good _to her. And he really didn't need to be. He had no reason to, in fact he had every reason to despise her. What was she to him, after all? His best friend's ex-wife. He might have said she was his friend, but she'd been Danny's wife first. What was that phrase? Bros before..._whores..._ He should have hung up the phone the moment he heard her voice. He should never have spoken to her, let alone come all this way, done all of this, spent all this _money. _

He must be planning on getting something out of all this. There was no other possibility.

It wasn't like that hadn't happened before. She remembered back when she'd first moved in with John, the first time she'd ever seen him really drunk. He'd been angry with her...she didn't exactly remember why. She'd said something stupid, or done something stupid, or maybe she'd just nagged him about drinking too much. He'd dragged her outside anyway, his hand squeezing her arm painfully and she'd tried to tell him he was hurting her, but he hadn't seemed to hear. He'd screamed at her, out in the alley, calling her all sorts of names, and she hadn't understood where it was coming from and she'd been pleading with him to calm down.

The fire door had opened behind them, and suddenly there was a sea of people separating them, a bouncer holding John back, talking him down.

"Are you alright?" a tall blond man asked her anxiously, his hand hovering over her elbow. "Here. Let me help you." His hand was on her arm now, and he was drawing her back inside.

She looked back towards John, still arguing with the bouncer. "No, I should..." She was still shaking.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said firmly. "Lets get you somewhere safe until he's calmed down a little."

The door shut behind them and the man steered her quickly into the cloakroom. "I think your man needs anger management classes."

"He's not normally like that," she protested. "He's just had too much to drink."

"Uh huh," he agreed, moving closer. "Lucky for you I was passing by."

"Yes," she said distractedly, looking back towards the door. "I should go find him..."

His hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside her and he was up against her and she could smell the sour whisky. "Aren't you going to say thank you?"

This couldn't be happening. "Let me go," she said fearfully.

"I don't think so," he said, thrusting his body forwards, grinding against her, his hands mauling her breasts. "I saved you, you ungrateful bitch. And you're gonna thank me for it." He leaned forwards, forcing his tongue into her mouth in a gross parody of a kiss, his hands purposefully hauling her skirt up, his unkempt fingernails scratching over her thighs.

She couldn't struggle. She couldn't fight. She was frozen in place, screaming inside with every touch, letting him paw at her...Danny! Oh, god, Danny _please. _

The man was suddenly torn away and for one stupid moment she actually thought that Danny had heard her. Actually thought that Danny had come back to make everything alright again, one more time. But John was standing there and the man who'd attacked her was bleeding and he looked at John and swore and ran off, and still John was just s_tanding there, _staring at her.

There was disgust in his eyes. Suddenly she was very aware that her lipstick was smeared, that her blouse had lost a couple of buttons, that her skirt was hiked up around her waist. She smoothed it down awkwardly. "John, I'm sorry," she stammered, trying to explain, desperately needing to explain, because he'd caught her with another man and he had every right to be furious and he might just walk away right now and she couldn't bear that. "I didn't want to...he just led me away when there was the fuss outside. I thought...I thought he was just being nice. I didn't know that's what he wanted."

He looked at her with bitter contempt. "What else would he have wanted, whore?" he demanded.

That was the question she couldn't answer.

That was still the question she couldn't answer.

She bit her lip hard, trying to push the memory away. She didn't want to think about that. The last thing she wanted was to remember anything that might remind her that maybe John had a point.

John had saved her then. That was what counted. He'd saved her from something that had been her own fault, and she'd had to work so hard to show him that she _was _grateful, that he was the only man for her. She'd spent that weekend doing everything she could to please him, offering herself to him any which way he wanted it. She owed it to him, after all. Gradually, in between sex and apologies, the anger had faded from his eyes and he'd forgiven her.

She'd sworn then she wouldn't make him angry again.

And now Rusty had saved her and she still didn't even understand _how. _One phonecall. Three words. And he'd just swept down out of the sky, like a deus ex machina, if the deus in question was wearing a rumpled purple suit with half a twinkie in the pocket.

He was impossible. And she owed him.

_"Someone goes out of their way to do me a favour, I'm __going to do everything in my power to make sure they're paid back, one way or another. That's only fair"._

It was fair. She couldn't argue that it was fair.

She stole a glance at him quickly, not wanting him to notice. He looked...tense. Tired and tense and that sent a shudder of dread down her spine. It was all too easy to imagine that changing to anger.

He would expect...sooner or later he would _expect_...and she could make everything better if she just anticipated that. He'd done so much for her. She _wanted _to please him, just like she pleased John.

Choking down a wave of nausea and dizziness, she reached out and laid her hand on Rusty's thigh, her fingers trembling and creeping higher.

"Tess," he started to say, his voice a choked whisper.

Sometimes she hated it when John said her name. Sometimes, she'd rather pretend she was someone else.

Mechanically, her hand caressed his thigh, kneading flesh, as she slipped off her chair and onto her knees, her legs spread, her head bowed towards his lap. She reached out to unfasten his fly, her lips parted and she forced her tongue to run over her lips sensually.

A crash, and the chair fell backwards, away from her, and Rusty was on his feet, backing away from her. "No," he said firmly. "Tess, this isn't..." He seemed to be struggling to speak. "_Why?"_

She stayed on her knees, uncertain. "I thought you would want...I just wanted to help you relax." She shouldn't have assumed he wanted her like this. God, why was she so stupid? She'd even thought earlier that Rusty didn't waste his time with anyone weak and helpless and then she'd...no wonder he was repulsed by her. She wrapped her arm around herself tightly, a desperate self hug. "I'm sorry," she moaned. "I...I should go."

"Don't go," he said quickly, kneeling down in front of her. "I'm sorry, Tess. You took me by surprise, is all." He took a deep breath. "I don't want anything like that. And I'd never want that for you."

She hunched her shoulders, drawing away from him instinctively. That wasn't what he wanted? She felt a surge of panic; she didn't _have _anything else.

"Tess..." Hesitantly he reached out his hand and pressed it lightly against her cheek. "I just want to help you. I don't want anything from you, I swear."

"But you said," she protested, looking up at him. "You said that if someone did someone a favour they should be paid back."

He breathed in sharply. "Not like that," he said, sounding stricken. "Never like that. And I didn't mean that you'd have to pay me back. 's just..." He hesitated. "I suppose if I do someone a favour, it's just me doing them a favour. I don't expect anything."

There was a note of confusion in his voice and she figured that maybe he'd never questioned this before. She didn't know what to say.

He took her hand between his in silence, and maybe he didn't know what to say either.

"John..." She swallowed hard. "John says that no one will ever help me without wanting..._that._"

"He's lying," Rusty said at once, squeezing her fingers gently. "Or he's too stupid to even know the truth." He reached out and stroked her cheek again, and she found herself looking straight into his eyes. "I told you, Tess. You're my friend. And that's the only reason I'll ever need."

She believed him now. And she felt embarrassed but more than that, she felt safe. He was holding onto her like he didn't want to let go, and just with every moment that passed a little more fear and tension faded away.

"You want to get some sleep?" Rusty suggested, after a couple of moments.

She nodded thankfully. Yes. Sleep sounded like a good idea. Maybe things would look better in the morning. Maybe she'd have a better idea of what she should be doing.

"You should take one of those pills now you've eaten," he added, standing up and reaching for the bag. With a glance at her arm, he opened the bottle and waited until she held out her hand before shaking out one of the pills.

"Thank you," she said softly before she took it.

"No problem," he said, his smile bright and tender.

He led her through to the bedroom, pulling back the cover for her, making everything easy, and it wasn't until the door had quietly closed behind him that she rolled onto her side, her face buried in the pillow, and the tears came. She wasn't worried that he'd hear. She'd got very good at crying silently.

The physical pain wasn't too bad. She'd had worse in recent memory, and without the blessed numbness that the painkillers offered. John didn't like seeing her take pills. Making a fuss, he called it. Guilt made him irritable. No, it wasn't the pain it was just...everything. It was all too much. Her life had completely changed this afternoon, and she felt lost and frightened. And Rusty had been wonderful. Too wonderful, and he hadn't even wanted what she'd offered and that frightened her too.

This morning the world had been full of pain and dread and fear. But she'd understood it. There had been rules. Now...now she didn't know what to think.

She closed her eyes, imagining strong arms holding her tight, dark eyes, a tender smile, warm and safe and close and...John! She was thinking about John. She was.

John. No matter what, everything came back to him in a muggy swirl of fear and loss and love. Was she really ready to walk away from him for good? Yes, she knew what he'd done, and she didn't need Rusty to tell her it wasn't right...but he'd been good to her too. He wasn't a bad person, after all. He was charismatic and clever and funny - he _cared _about her, and he had a sentimental streak a mile wide. All that had to count for something, didn't it? So he had a few anger issues, and a drinking problem. John had a lot to put up with too. She was stupid and careless and clingy. She _knew _that, did she really think she was going to find someone better?

Once upon a time she'd decided that being alone was better. What had happened to that?

She knew the answer even as she asked the question.

Danny. Oh, God, she hated him.

Her nails were curled tightly into her palms and she silently sobbed herself to sleep.

_There was a crack on the ceiling, she noticed dizzily, and she traced the way it cut through the plaster while John raged. She wasn't going to try and stand up. Not again. She'd learned her lesson, for the moment at least. _

_"Stupid whore! Can't you keep your legs together for five minutes?"_

_"I'm sorry," she tried again, and she cried out, covering her head a second too late, and the kick reverberated through her jaw, pain rippling outwards._

_"Liar!" he spat. "You're not sorry. If you were sorry, you'd stop doing it." _

_She hadn't meant to. The waiter had smiled at her as he'd poured the wine, so she'd smiled back. That was all. It hadn't meant anything like John said, had it? Maybe...she'd been wrong before. She wasn't good at seeing signals. And no matter what John did, she didn't seem to learn fast enough to please him. And that was no excuse because she should _already know_. Maybe people always saw her as...what John called her. Again and again, she'd thought that the problem was with other people. Maybe it had been her all along._

_Another kick and she was crying. A wretched snivelling mess. John grabbed the cast iron poker from the fireplace and lunged towards her, and she whimpered in anticipation, curling up as tightly as possible in a futile attempt to protect herself. There was an explosion by her ear as John brought the poker down on the polished floorboards, inches from her face, and she screamed and jerked away, and the poker hit the ground on the other side, by her shoulder, and she screamed again as the noise came from all around her, and she twisted and turned, trying to escape, already knowing it was hopeless, and it was only a matter of time before John got bored of toying with her, and the real pain would start, and maybe he wasn't too far gone, maybe she could make him listen to reason, but all she had were broken pleas. "Don't_..._please, don't," she begged, her voice shattered and trembling. "Please don't hurt me. I won't do it again, only don't hurt me any more_. Please."

"Tess!"

She woke up to find Rusty standing over her and she shrank back instantly, her arm flying up to protect her face, and it seemed like it was his instincts that had him reaching out, taking her into his arms, holding her close, his hand soothing through her hair.

"'s just a nightmare," he promised her softly. "You're safe. I'm here."

She was trembling. "It was real," she told him and her voice was thick with tears.

He sighed, and to her astonishment he bent down and pressed a kiss into her hair. "I know," he said simply. "But you're safe now, I swear it."

There was such sincerity in his voice that it was hard not to believe him. She realised with a start that she was holding onto him, clinging to him. She should let go, only she didn't want to.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked hesitantly.

Talking about it really would be betraying John. Talking about it would be another step. And she wasn't sure that she was ready. But she was lying here in another man's arms. "He hit me with a poker," she whispered. "He threw me to the ground...he wouldn't stop."

"Oh, Tess." She could hear the horror in his voice, and the compassion and concern, but it didn't feel like pity and he kissed her hair again and somehow it felt like comfort and reassurance.

"How do you know what to do?" she blurted out, wonderingly.

There was a pause and she could feel him regarding her. "What do you mean?" he asked eventually.

She hesitated. "Like in the bathroom," she said at last. "You opened the shampoo for me. And you knew I wouldn't feel like eating..."

"Oh." He relaxed, ever so slightly. "I've...been hurt before, Tess. I know how it feels when all you want to do is sleep. And I've broken my arm before and I remember how difficult it was to do anything at first."

"Oh," she said quietly, and she supposed that explained it, but that wasn't what she really wanted to know. She looked down at the sheets, staring at the embroidery along the hem, not looking at him for a second. "How do you know how to...what to say. To not be frightening." She bit her lip; she sounded like an idiot, and she didn't really want to admit that she'd expect to be frightened. But he'd seen, and besides, he helped, and she didn't understand.

He sighed. "My childhood...wasn't the greatest," he said after a moment. "My Mom knocked me around while I was growing up, and she hooked up with a string of guys who took their cue from her. 's not the same thing but...I know what it's like to feel threatened all the time."

That hadn't been what she was expecting, and she didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, Rusty," she said awkwardly, looking up at him shyly.

He flashed her a smile. "'s okay. Was a long time ago."

"That doesn't make it right," she said, and her voice wasn't quite as certain as it should have been. But his family were supposed to love him, and if they loved him, surely they shouldn't hurt him.

"No," he told her seriously. "It's not right. It's never right."

For a moment she was certain that he was going to draw the obvious comparison, but instead he carefully sat up straight, and smiled at her. "Do you want to try going back to sleep? Or do you want to stay up for a bit and watch TV or something until you feel better."

That sounded good. Right now, she didn't dare close her eyes. She nodded silently, and he stood up and started searching for the remote.

"Sorry, I should have thought to get Lia to pick you up a book or something too," he said with a grimace, sounding ridiculously guilty that he hadn't thought of literally _everything._

She looked over at him and suddenly found herself looking past him to the living room. He must have left the door open when he came in. There were pillows and a comforter strewn over the sofa. Rusty must have been sleeping there. On guard, in case she had a nightmare, or staying between her and the door in case John found them. It didn't matter the reasoning.

"Will you stay?" she asked softly. "Until I fall asleep? Please?"

He looked over at her. "Of course," he promised.

She'd never felt this protected in her life.


	15. The Benedict Job 8

**A/N: I don't really have an A/N. It just feels weird starting a chapter without one.**

* * *

><p>11th July 2001<p>

Danny had waited in the restaurant for a half hour, hoping to catch Tess before Terry arrived. Coincidentally, Saul as Lyman Zerga was going to intercept Terry to talk about the vault, so Danny had been certain he'd have a chance to talk to her before dinner. Not that he was exactly sure what he wanted to say. Well, he knew what he _wanted _to say, "I'm sorry" and "I missed you" and "I love you" but he wasn't going to crowd her like that. He was going to see how she was doing, he was going to talk about Benedict and he was going to let her know that he still cared.

Except Tess didn't show up for dinner.

For a while he wondered if he'd got it wrong. Maybe Tess didn't eat dinner with Terry every night, or maybe they were planning on eating in the suite or even outside the hotel. But then Terry swept into the room and stopped dead at the sight of the empty table.

Danny couldn't risk getting close enough to hear the details, but Terry didn't seem at all happy. As Danny watched, he signalled over the maitre d, and there was a brief, hushed conversation, and the maitre d was shaking his head.

Looked like Terry had been stood up.

Danny had to admit, he _liked _that idea.

Sitting down at the table, Terry pulled his phone out and made a call, his lips thinning as there was obviously no answer.

Right. Unless a lot had changed in the last four years, Tess didn't carry a cell. Which meant that Terry would be calling the suite, which suggested she wasn't there. And, as Terry hung up and imperiously summoned the nearest waiter, it didn't look like Terry was going to go looking. And in spite of the fact that was convenient for _him, _Danny still found himself disapproving.

Still, it gave him a clear window to find Tess and talk. Now he just had to figure out where she'd be.

Art gallery. That was Danny's first guess, and he was assuming here that Tess had gone somewhere of her own accord, maybe needing some room to think, to breathe. From everything Danny had seen - which, admittedly wasn't a lot - Terry didn't leave her much space. That was the most likely option. The alternative which he wasn't thinking about, was that Tess was actually missing. Maybe all Terry's security precautions weren't an overreaction after all.

He shook his head, firmly dismissing the thought, for the moment at least. Much more likely that Tess was just somewhere else, having lost track of time maybe.

The art gallery shut at seven, but he'd been hopeful that maybe being Terry's girlfriend brought some kind of perks, but when he got there it was closed up and silent. Mmm. His next guess had to be the suite. Maybe Tess just didn't want to talk to Terry. Maybe they'd had an argument. He had to admit, that thought did please him.

Thing was, it was a big hotel. Hell, it was a big city and he knew there was a good chance he'd never find her, which was why it was such a surprise when he emerged on the top floor and saw her walking out of a door marked 'Employees Only' and behind her he could see the stairs that led up to the roof.

"Tess!" he called immediately, and she turned round and stared at him in shock.

She'd been crying. He saw that at once. She'd been crying and her lip was all ragged and swollen, like she'd been biting it.

"What's wrong?" he asked, everything else just fading away. "Tess, what's happened?"

She was still staring at him and it was like she didn't quite believe he was real. "Danny?" she breathed. "What...what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he told her, and he stepped towards her, intent on finding out what had upset her, desperate to fix everything. "Tess - "

With a startled cry, she jumped back, stumbling away from him like he was the enemy. "Don't!" She shook her head. "Y-you shouldn't be here, Danny. I don't want to see you. Go away."

He flinched, and there was no sign of forgiveness on her face, no trace of the love they'd once shared. But she was angry and upset and – _frightened?_ - and he couldn't just _leave _her.

"Tess, I'm sorry," he said, spreading his hands helplessly, and she focused on the gesture, like she wasn't even willing to look him in the eye. "I never wanted to hurt you, believe me. But please. Tell me what's wrong."

Her lips were set and her eyes were darting around the room. "When did you get out?"

"A couple of weeks ago," he said honestly. "Tess, _please._"

"I should have known you'd be here," she said with something that was almost a sob. "I should have guessed."

He didn't see how. "Someone's upset you," he tried. "Was it Benedict?" If he'd hurt her...if he'd made her cry, Danny would be on him in a heartbeat.

She shook her head helplessly, saying nothing for a long moment. "No," she said at last, with a kind of soft, bitter triumph. "It was Rusty."

Rusty? He stared at her and he knew she was telling the truth. Rusty had made Tess cry. And he didn't understand what had happened - Rusty had seen Tess tonight? He'd have been shocked...angry, even. He'd have figured out that Danny must have known immediately. And there'd been a confrontation, and Rusty had...said something?

He was conscious of a rolling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Rusty had said something. Something that had left Tess distraught and miserable. And then he'd left her alone.

(_He'd told Rusty he still trusted him..._)

Tess looked at him nervously, twisting her hands together. "There's no need to look so shocked. I-I'm sure he told you all about it."

No. No, he hadn't. He shook his head. "I haven't seen Rusty tonight," he explained. "Tess, what - "

She interrupted him, her eyes wide. " - tonight? But..." She broke off, confused and staring at him. "He didn't tell you?" she asked in a whisper. "He didn't _tell _you." The anger had bled from her voice. She almost sounded wondering.

"Tell me what?" Danny asked, and he was long past the point of understanding.

"I...I should go," she said, shaking her head quickly. "I should...Terry will be waiting for me. You should leave, Danny. Please leave. Terry's a good man..."

She started down the corridor, and automatically he stepped in front of her, blocking her way, because they hadn't finished talking, and he _needed_ answers. "Tess - "

She froze immediately, staring down at the floor in front of him, her shoulders hunched and tense. " - I'm sorry," she said reflexively and her voice shook alarmingly. "Please. I'm sorry."

Shocked, he moved out of the way immediately, and she sprinted down the corridor and disappeared into the door to her suite.

As she passed, she raised her head and glanced at him for the briefest second.

Danny would remember the look in her eyes for the rest of his life.

He stared down the corridor after her, fighting the urge to follow, to walk straight through that door, take her in his arms and never let go. As much as his heart ached, that wasn't a good plan right now. She'd been frightened of him, after all. Tess had been frightened of him...he could hardly get his head round that. But he remembered the way she'd been the last time he'd seen her, in the police station when she'd found out. She'd been scared then too. He'd tried to tell himself it had been the shock, that when she thought about it, when she remembered everything they'd done, the life they'd shared together, she'd realise he wasn't...

Apparently he was.

Maybe he should take this as a final sign. Tess didn't want to be with him any more. He should accept that and bow out gracefully, because hurting her? That was the last thing he wanted to do.

She'd said Terry was a good man. He knew that wasn't true, but that didn't necessarily mean that Terry was a bad boyfriend, right? Maybe he made Tess happy. Maybe it was jealousy, not instinct, that told him otherwise.

The elevator whirred behind him, and he quickly ducked through the fire door, just in time to see Benedict walk out and head briskly to his suite. Hell. No chance of getting to talk more to Tess now, even if he thought that was the right thing to do.

He stared at the door, imagining them inside, imagining them together and it killed him. Wasn't jealousy telling him that Terry Benedict wasn't good enough for her. Terry was arrogant and humourless and had a history of ruining people's lives.

_(And Danny was a thief and a liar and had a history of ruining his wife's life.)_

No. He brushed his hand through his hair irritably. No, this wasn't just him. Something was going on. Something was _wrong. _Tess had been upset, and Benedict kept her under guard, and she _wasn't _happy, and none of that was down to jealousy. He needed answers, and Tess had told him exactly where to find them.

Determined, he hurried downstairs and he found himself knocking before he'd even considered just walking in.

Rusty answered the door with a cold compress in his hand.

Danny stared at the swelling bruises around his mouth.

Suddenly, everything just got worse.

"Don't ask," Rusty said carelessly, ushering him inside quickly. "I had it coming."

Danny swallowed hard. "Did you?" he asked, his voice practically unrecognisable. Rusty hadn't had those bruises when he'd last seen him. Which meant that over the past hour or so, Rusty had talked to Tess, made her cry and been punched in the face. And it wasn't that he thought...he didn't _know _what he thought. He just knew that for the first time in their life, Rusty was hurt and he wasn't rushing to offer comfort.

There was a hollow feeling deep inside his chest. He didn't know what to _do. _If this was anyone but Rusty...

Rusty studied him intently for a long moment, before nodding to himself wearily. "You've seen Tess."

"Yes," he said shortly. It was all he trusted himself to say. Because there were so many questions, so many accusations, so many things he _had _to say, and if he let that go...he didn't question Rusty. Ever.

"How was she?" Rusty asked quietly, and there was a desperate, guilty hunger in his eyes that made Danny long to look away.

"She was upset," he admitted. "She was shocked to see me, but she'd already been crying. She said you made her cry."

With a sigh, Rusty flung himself back onto the sofa and sprawled casually, looking up at Danny, the compress still held to his face. Danny recognised the defensive defiance and it hurt. "Yes," he said simply. "Yes, I probably made Tess cry. Yes, she hit me. Yes, I did deserve it. No, I can't tell you why."

On some level, Danny knew he was angry. Furious, even. But more than that, there was the hurt and the bewilderment, and above all, he felt numb. This was like some awful nightmare where nothing made _sense. _"You can't tell me why?" he echoed.

Rusty shook his head silently, looking down at the ground.

In a second, Danny crossed the floor, his hand on Rusty's jaw, wrenching his head up, ignoring the soft gasp of startled pain. "She's my wife - "

" - ex wife," Rusty interrupted fiercely, his hand on Danny's wrist, pushing his hand away. "Tess is your ex wife and you should remember that."

Danny dropped his hands to his side and took a step back and his eyes never left Rusty's face. "Something she said...she suggested that you'd seen her while I was in prison," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Rusty closed his eyes and shook his head blindly. "I can't tell you about that either...oh, Danny, I'm _sorry._"

Sorry. Right. And yet Danny knew he couldn't doubt the sincerity.

"I saw her yesterday," Rusty went on, and his voice was level but he wouldn't meet Danny's eyes. "In the Bellagio. She was going for dinner with Terry Benedict."

"They're living together," Danny confirmed, his voice tight with pain and misery. It hurt to picture Tess living with anyone else, especially someone like Benedict.

"Yeah," Rusty said quietly. "I watched them through dinner and I...I figured I needed to talk to Tess."

"You didn't tell me," Danny said harshly.

Rusty looked up quickly. "You didn't tell _me._"

He hadn't. He'd been afraid of how Rusty would react. _This _hadn't been in any of his imaginings. "Thought you might - "

" - I'm not angry," Rusty interrupted, and Danny frowned because Rusty _was _angry, he just wasn't angry because of that. "And I would have told you, Danny. I was going to talk to you tonight. Once I'd seen Tess." He sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. "Sit down, Danny," he said, his voice strangely gentle.

Danny's fury was far from forgotten. "I'm fine standing."

"Sit down," Rusty repeated. "_Please._"

Filled with a sense of foreboding, he obeyed, and it was only when he saw the look on Rusty's face that he realised that he'd automatically sat on the chair by the dresser, as far from Rusty as possible.

Rusty stood up slowly and started pacing just in front of the door, almost like he was guarding it. Finally he stopped and raised his head and looked straight at Danny. "I was watching Tess and Terry at dinner last night," he began softly. "And I didn't like what I saw. I think...I _know..._Tess is in trouble. The way Benedict talked to her...he was giving her orders. Talking down to her. He's got her completely under his control, Danny. I don't think she makes a move without his consent."

He was on his feet in a second, striding towards the door, needing to see for himself, needing to save Tess, to confront Terry.

"No!" Rusty said, stepping in his way, gripping his arms tightly. "Danny, you can't. This is Terry's place. His security is tight and he'll have you back inside before you can blink. And more importantly, Tess sees you angry like this, you'll drive her further away."

He knew Rusty was talking sense, and he still struggled for a few moments, trying to get away. Damnit, he should have _known. _He should never have left her. This was all his fault. He looked at Rusty helplessly. "I saw her today," he whispered. "She wasn't allowed to go outside the Bellagio without a minder. And she was shopping and it was like she wasn't _there. _And it was for him."

Rusty's eyes were blank. "The Victoria's Secret bag," he said, understanding dawning with the same shudder of revulsion that Danny felt.

"And when she saw _me..." _He shook his head. "She was scared, Rus'. She was scared of me." He looked at Rusty miserably. "Suppose he's hurting her?"

"I asked," Rusty said quickly. "She says he doesn't hit her, and I believe her."

That was the smallest crumb of comfort imaginable.

"So what do we do?" he asked Rusty heavily. "What the fuck do we do?"

Rusty guided him back to the chair with a gesture and he sat down. "I don't know," Rusty answered him. "Tess doesn't see a problem with Terry's behaviour. Says he's a good man." His mouth twisted. "Says he gives her what she needs."

"How can she say that?" he demanded, bewildered and hurt and lost, and if Tess didn't want to be saved, how was he supposed to save her?

"'s harder to see these things from the inside, maybe," Rusty said with a shrug. "And I guess Terry's done a good job convincing her."

Brainwashing her. Moulding her, like so much clay, into someone she _wasn't. _He didn't even notice he was on his feet until he was watching his fist smash into the wall. He drew his hand back, ready for another punch, imagining Terry Benedict's smug face, and Rusty grabbed his elbow and hauled him away.

Angrily, Danny pulled his arm out of Rusty's grasp. "You said you saw her while I was inside," he snarled. "How the fuck did you let this happen?"

Rusty froze. Danny might as well have hit him. The guilt and regret was immediate and overwhelming, and now he recognised the weary, deadened look in Rusty's eyes.

"I got caught up in other things," Rusty said quietly, before Danny had managed to pull himself together enough to formulate an apology.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "That's not fair. It's not you...I'm the one who fucked up. I'm the one who left her. This is my responsibility."

Rusty flashed him a wan smile that seemed full of a meaning Danny didn't understand. "Not just your responsibility."

With an effort, Danny set aside the painful maybe. For the moment, anyway.

"I'd thought maybe we could show her what Benedict's really like," he said by way of moving on. "Let her see he'll never put her first."

"Wouldn't work," Rusty said immediately. "She already knows that."

Yeah. "So what do we do?" he asked again, helplessly.

There was no answer.

In fact, there was no answer for the rest of the night. Everything they came up with, every possibility, took them nowhere near anything Tess would listen to. If Tess thought she was _happy _right now, God help him, then he didn't know what to do.

Right now, Tess was with Terry Benedict. And he was hurting her – right now, tonight, in everything he said and did, he was hurting her and Danny could do nothing.

He'd listened to what Rusty had said, had demanded every detail of the dinner, everything that Rusty had seen and he felt his heart break.

Tess. Oh, God, Tess. This was his fault. He'd left her and look what had happened.

Except, in truth, he didn't know what had happened and every time he looked at Rusty the question burned in his mind.

_Did you sleep with my wife while I was in prison?_

He didn't ask it. He couldn't ask it. He was supposed to trust Rusty. Unconditionally, that was the deal. And yet...

And yet. He'd seen the look on Rusty's face when they'd been talking. There was something there. Something inconceivable. Unimaginable. And Rusty felt like he'd betrayed him.

Danny felt guilty just thinking about it, but it wasn't as if Rusty had the best track record. He'd never actually cheated on anyone, but there were some lines he wasn't too bothered about crossing.

But Rusty and Tess...the thought choked him up inside. It couldn't happen. It _couldn't._

And yet he'd seen the look on Rusty's face. That hadn't been about sex. That had been love.

Rusty loved Tess.

_Did you sleep with my wife while I was in prison, Rus'?_


	16. Two years earlier 7

**A/N: I have the My Little Pony theme song stuck in my head. Help.**

* * *

><p><em>January 17<em>_th__ 1999_

Tess was asleep, and Rusty quietly slipped off the edge of the bed and turned off the TV. Lying next to her until she fell asleep was one thing, but he was afraid that if she woke up and found him in bed with her, she might be frightened, or uncomfortable at least. Of course, he didn't want to leave her alone either, and he drew up a chair next to the bed and curled up on it, trying to get as comfortable as possible. Right. Because there was no chance that seeing him sitting by the bed, watching her sleep was going to be frightening and uncomfortable...

He sighed. He was out of his depth here. He'd practically lost count of the number of times he'd startled her into submission. He was trying his best, and his best just wasn't good enough. Not that he had any intention of stopping trying. He'd meant what he said; he wasn't going to abandon her.

Thing was, he didn't really have much experience of comforting people. Only Danny, and that was all he'd had to draw on, and that was about letting him know he wasn't alone, about holding and being held, and he just wasn't sure if there wasn't something else he should be doing.

For the most part, he thought he was managing the practical alright at least. Shelter, food, medical attention, safety...that counted for something, he guessed. But for the rest...he was nothing but a very poor substitute for Danny.

Danny. He'd promised to keep this a secret from Danny. And he could understand why Tess would want...fuck knows, he could picture Danny's face if he found out Tess had been hurt so badly. He didn't think that even he'd be enough to stop Danny going after John. Not that he was so sure he'd try. But just the _idea _of hiding this...it hurt. It was wrong. And he was still going to do it.

The next step was going to be figuring out what should be their next step. His instincts had him getting Tess away from all this, to the other side of the country at least. A new start. He had money enough to keep them going for a while. He could get them a nice apartment. A house, maybe. Help Tess figure out what she wanted. Sounded like a possibility. He'd need to wait and see though; maybe Tess would have other thoughts. He knew she didn't have much in the way of family, or even friends, but maybe there'd be somewhere she'd want to go, someone she'd want to see. He'd wait and ask.

He closed his eyes, admitting at last that he was exhausted. Whatever they were going to do, he'd need to see about getting Tess some ID. Now, he wondered...

He woke a few times during the night, when Tess stirred, troubled by some nightmare or other. Thankfully, he was able to reassure her enough each time that she fell straight back to sleep again. He doubted she'd even remember in the morning.

It was sometime after seven when he woke properly, conscious of the ache in his back and neck. Sleeping in a chair apparently wasn't so good for him. Noiselessly, he got up and padded through to the bathroom. A hot bath would solve that problem nicely, and give him time to think through today's plans.

In spite of his intentions, he was dozing lightly when he heard Tess from the living room. "Rusty?"

"In here," he called back.

"Oh!" She sounded surprised. "I thought...nevermind."

He grimaced. At a guess, she thought he'd gone. And that definitely wasn't in his plans for the day. Now all he had to do was assure Tess of that fact.

She was sitting on the sofa when he walked out the bathroom, staring blankly at the TV. It wasn't turned on.

"What's up?" he asked, sitting down in the armchair and leaning forwards to look at her.

Blinking, she shot him a bright smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Nothing."

Uh huh. He smiled gently. "Sounds unlikely."

She sighed and ducked her head. "I miss John."

Oh. He had no idea what to say to that. He wished she didn't. This would be so much easier if she hated the bastard.

"D... do you think he's missing me?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

"Perhaps," he managed.

"He always looks for me," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "I've...left before. He always looks. That means he cares about me, at least."

He bit his lip, holding back his immediate answer. "Just because he cares if you're gone doesn't mean he cares about _you,_" he told her. "Some men don't like to lose anything they think they own."

"You'd know all about that," she said with no real heat, and a second later she froze, as if suddenly realising what she'd said.

Rusty didn't react. It wasn't as if the barb had even hurt him, and even if it had, she was never going to be in danger from him. "Yep," he agreed. "But Tess, do you really want to be with someone who sees you as their possession?"

She didn't answer immediately. "He does love me," she said at last, twisting her hands together nervously. "Maybe he's sorry."

"Sorry only counts if he'll never do it again," Rusty said gently. He reached out and touched her fingers lightly, and her hands stilled instantly. "Tess. Do you honestly think he'll never do it again?"

There was a very long silence. Rusty held his breath and waited.

"No," she said at last in a small voice. She looked up at him then, agony in her eyes. "I have to leave him, don't I?"

He clasped her hand thankfully. "I think so."

She looked down again and he thought she was struggling not to cry. Without giving it another thought, he leaned forwards and wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders. He cursed himself as he felt her tense beneath him, but then she relaxed and leaned against him (_the way Danny might_) and he thought maybe he'd done the right thing after all.

"I should call him," she said after a few minutes, and there was no trace of tears in her voice. "Let him know that it's over. I owe him that at least."

"You don't owe him anything," he snarled, and he winced as she leapt back, startled.

"I know I don't..." she began, a couple of seconds later, when she was content that he wasn't about to hurt her. "But he's going to be worried, maybe. And he'll be looking for me. I _should _tell him. It's not right to just leave things hanging."

Rusty had left his share of romantic partners hanging in his time. And none of _them _had ever done anything like what John had done. But this was Tess and she wanted things tied off, neat and...and _normal..._and he might hate the idea but...

"You don't want me to call him," she stated, her shoulders hunched, like a child anticipating a scolding.

Yeah. That right there. "I don't have any right to decide who you talk to," he said softly and she looked up at him, startled, like she'd never thought about it like that. "If...if you want to call John, that's..._fine,_" he managed, with an effort. "I'll be here for whatever you need, Tess, I told you that." He bit his lip. "Only...do you think you could wait until we're further away? I'd feel happier."

She looked at him for a long time, studying him, and he wasn't even sure for _what. _But at last she nodded. "Okay," she said, closing her eyes for a moment. "It's not like I'm looking forward to telling him anyway."

Right. Rusty might have never met John, but he doubted he was going to take the news well.

"Is it alright if I take a shower?" she asked abruptly, and then her face clouded over with embarrassment as she realised what she'd said. "Uh, I mean...it's not..." She looked at him beseechingly.

"I know," he said quietly, a lump in his throat. "You don't have to ask my permission. But 's gonna take a while to get used to..." Being free? Being treated like a human being? "Everything," he said at last, vaguely. "Don't worry about it."

She nodded, her cheeks still red, and she stood up quickly, wincing in pain as she did so.

He frowned. "You taken your pills today?"

She tensed, facing away from him. "No," she admitted in a small voice.

"Tess," he said with a sigh. "You'll heal much faster if you're not hurting." Not to mention she _shouldn't _be hurting. He stood up and retrieved the bottle from the table, loosened the lid and held it out to her.

She didn't take it. "I don't...they make me..." she struggled.

Rusty understood. He carefully didn't look at her. "They make you feel slow," he suggested. "Less aware of your surroundings." Less able to notice danger, less able to react and run. Vulnerable.

"Yes," she said at once, gratefully. "It's not _safe." _

All at once, he remembered being a kid, battered and bleeding, fuzzy from sleep and Tylenol, knowing that Joe and his friends were still looking for him, but not able to focus enough to keep moving. And later, older, as Danny held out a bottle of pills. '_It's not safe'. _

He shook the memory off with an effort. He understood.

"The door's locked," he said with soft sincerity. "I'm here and I'm not leaving. And I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Tess. Please. Take the pills. You need them."

She shook out a couple into her hand, and silently he fetched her a glass of water and stood by her arm as she swallowed them.

"Be a bit before they start working," he warned.

She nodded, flashing him a brittle smile as she headed for the shower.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He had a feeling that they'd be having that same discussion four times a day for the forseeable future.

Who would have thought he and Tess were so similar?

* * *

><p>The next couple of days passed quickly.<p>

Tess was tired, and spent most of it on the couch, falling asleep and waking up afraid. He sat with her and soothed away nightmares as best he could. She didn't tell him any more details.

This was Danny, he'd be encouraging him to talk about it already. Because as much as they both hated it, talking..._sharing..._helped. Took the edge off the agony at least. It was a part of healing. But Danny didn't get that look of fear in his eyes if Rusty moved too suddenly, and Danny didn't need to know exactly where Rusty was at all times...huh. Okay, so maybe Danny _did, _but that was for very different reasons. Point was, he didn't want to confront Tess until she trusted him. Until she was comfortable enough that he wasn't constantly afraid she'd just change her mind, walk out and head back to _John. _

When Tess was awake, they watched TV together or talked of inconsequentialities. Learning little things and avoiding anything that led them towards pain or Danny.

Her favourite food was chocolate ice cream, but she always said it was ravioli because she didn't want to seem childish.

He smiled and ordered a large tub of Ben and Jerry's finest from room service, and they sat in front of the TV, giggling at Toy Story, the tub sitting between them with two spoons, and it was entirely childish, and he liked the life in her eyes.

She hated pink with a passion and had secretly wanted to burn the shirt Rusty had worn to dinner when Tess and Danny had announced their engagement.

She covered her mouth quickly when she'd said that, but Rusty was laughing. "I can see I'm gonna have to keep you away from matches," he said, letting the tease sound loud and clear in his voice. "Or at least from my wardrobe."

"You'll be fine if you stick to shades the human eye can bear," she retorted, looking like she could hardly believe what she was saying.

"Technically that shirt was more coral than pink anyway," he mused.

"That doesn't make it better," she said firmly.

When she was sixteen, she'd dreamed of becoming a famous artist.

"I wanted to go to art college, but Father didn't approve," she told him and then sighed. "He was right, of course. I was never good enough."

"But you still love art," he said, wanting to steer the conversation away from the negativity in her voice.

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "Sometimes, back before...I knew you...I used to dream about opening my own gallery. I thought I'd save up some capital, make sure I had clients who would follow me from Rene's place..." She trailed off.

"Sounds like you had it all planned out," he said lightly.

She shrugged and looked down at her hands intently. "It was just a stupid daydream. If I'd ever tried, I'd have gone bankrupt within a month. I'm not clever enough for something like that."

He hid the flash of emotion. "Is that you or John talking?" he asked gently. "Because I _know _how good you are at your job."

She bit her lip and for a moment she didn't say anything, and when she did it was obvious she was desperate to change the subject. "How about you? What were your plans when you were sixteen?"

Sixteen. Just before Danny. Being bounced from foster home to foster home, never knowing whether it was going to be tolerable or unpleasant or even dangerous. Sometimes sleeping on other people's floors or in other people's beds just to avoid going 'home' for weeks at a time. Picking pockets and working the short con, struggling to support himself, moving into that flea-bitten room with the leaking roof. The taste of hunger and the smell of damp and being so proud - relieved - to be standing on his own two feet. "When I was sixteen..." he said slowly. "I never really thought beyond the end of the week."

For a long moment she looked at him, brow furrowed, and he let her see some of it.

"I've never really been a long term plan kind of guy," he admitted cheerfully.

"You've never had any dreams?" she asked, sounding a little shocked.

He dreamed Danny never went to prison. He dreamed of finding John and teaching him right from wrong. That wasn't what she meant. "Sometimes I think of buying a hotel," he was astonished to hear himself say. "'s just a daydream. But I've stayed in so many, and sometimes I just look around and think about what I'd do different." He'd never told anyone that. Not even Danny. Oh, not that it was a secret but...he'd never told Danny. And now he'd told Tess.

It made her smile. "You should," she said definitively. "You'd be good."

Grinning, he nodded. "Alright. Some day, I'll buy a hotel, and you can open an art gallery in it."

"A hotel with an art gallery?" She wrinkled her nose. "That would be a bit strange, wouldn't it?"

He shrugged. "The Bellagio in Las Vegas has a gallery attached," he told her."

"Really?" she looked thoughtful. "Okay then. The Ryan Halliday Hotel and Gallery it is." She smiled, her eyes far away, like she was enjoying the dream. "We'll need a better name, mind you."

He'd had Lea go and pick up a few books, and sometimes when Tess didn't feel like talking, she'd sit and read. Other times, when her eyes were tired, he'd read aloud to her. He remembered doing the same thing for Danny once or twice, in similar circumstances, and without even thinking about it he put on different accents and voices for the different parts, acting out the pulp detective novel with as much enthusiasm and attention to detail as he'd put into any con. Tess smiled up at him from the sofa, her eyes amused and full of...fondness. It felt strangely intimate.

Other times they watched TV together. Old films and reruns, mostly. Occasionally the daytime soaps with a certain amount of incomprehension and a lot of guilty pleasure that lasted right up until the time that one of the lead characters slapped his wife across the face.

He changed the channel quickly, leaving it on something less to the point.

Tess' eyes were blank and far away. "It isn't like that."

He looked at her, wishing he knew the right words to say. Wishing there was something that would just take all the pain away. "Tess..."

"We met at the supermarket. He knocked my shopping over accidentally and stopped to help me pick it up...we got talking. I gave him my number and he called the very next day. He _liked _me Rusty. He said he'd never met anyone else like me. We spent every minute we could together; it was like a whirlwind."

Like a whirlwind. She could talking about the way she and Danny had got together. Sudden and impulsive and overwhelming. He suppressed the shudder and listened.

"We'd barely been dating two weeks when he told me he loved me. It felt...having someone who actually cared about me was..."

He heard what she wasn't saying with a feeling of growing horror. "Danny cared about you, Tess," he insisted. "Danny loved you. Loves you," he corrected himself, almost at once.

She stared fiercely at the wall. "Danny lied to me. He...he used me. John says I must have made a good cover. Because I'm naive and _stupid _and he took advantage - "

He could barely hear anything else over the fury. Tess and Danny...everything that mattered, all twisted up in lies. " - _Danny loves you,"_ he interrupted unable to keep the anger from his voice. "He was never looking to...to _use _you. Yes, he lied to you, but everything you had? That was real."

She shrank away from him. "Of course. I...I'm sorry," she said meekly. "I didn't...I'm sorry."

The anger faded in a heartbeat and he stared aghast at what he'd done. "I'm not angry with you," he told her desperately. "I'm sorry, Tess." He reached out to take her hand and she flinched away quickly, wide eyed and startled.

"I'm just...I just need to..." She stood up and ran towards the bedroom. He let her go, afraid of frightening her.

_Damn. _She finally started to open up, and he ruined everything by not _thinking _before he spoke. He wasn't just Danny's friend, that's what he'd told her. He needed to start living that.

He gave her a couple of minutes to compose herself before he followed, knocking lightly on the bedroom door and waiting until she gave permission before she walked in.

The sliding door was open and she was standing on the balcony, leaning down over the railing.

"Tess?" he said tentatively.

"I'm _fine,_" she answered immediately, her voice muffled, her head buried in her hands.

He nodded slowly, thinking of times he'd said that, times Danny had said that. Those two words might just be the most common lie ever told. "I didn't mean - " he began, and she interrupted almost immediately, her words falling over each other in her eagerness to please.

" - I should never have said those things. I didn't mean them. I...I know Danny cared about me." Her voice was earnest and trembling and she sounded like she was desperate to be believed. He didn't think for a second she was actually convinced.

But what was he going to do? Argue? Stand up for Danny, no matter what? Every other situation in his life, that had been the only possible answer. Now... "It doesn't matter, Tess," he said, swallowing hard. "You have every right to be angry." He just wished she was even a _fraction _as angry with John as she was at Danny. "You were talking about John, and I should have listened, not..." Not acted like a _moron. _

She still didn't look at him. "I don't want to talk about him," she said in a whisper.

"I'll never force you to," he promised firmly. "But Tess...it will help."

A half shrug, and she continued to stare at the airport parking lot.

He sighed. "Not exactly an inspiring view," he commented lightly, trying to make things normal, trying to recapture even a little of the ground he'd lost.

"I like high places," she said softly after a few moments silence. "Looking down like this...the breeze...it helps me think. It always has, even when I was a child. I used to climb the tree in our back yard whenever I was upset. It always made Father angry. Nice little girls don't climb trees, and anyway it was dangerous and dirty. Mom understood though. She said I got it from her and..." She broke off abruptly, as though in sudden realisation, and she stared down at her hands for a long second, twisting her fingers together.

"What?" he asked gently.

"It's nothing," she said, looking up at him with a brave smile, and somehow that made the bruises on her face stand out all the more.

"It's not nothing," he said, focusing on her carefully. "I can see there's something bothering you. If you don't want to tell me, that's absolutely fine. Like I said; I'll never force you. But it's not nothing."

"It's _stupid_ then," she said, with a brief flash of self-directed anger.

"It matters to you, it's not stupid," he said seriously.

She looked at him again, frowning, studying him carefully - wondering if she could trust him? Wondering if he'd understand? He couldn't be sure, but he stood and let her look, and he didn't have a thing to hide.

Eventually she sighed, and leaned back over the railing, looking away from him. "It's stupid," she said again. "And you're going to think I'm horrible and ungrateful."

"No I'm not," he contradicted her quietly, leaning back against the edge of the balcony himself, watching her and waiting.

She sighed again. "It's just...if I'd known I was leaving, if I'd known I might not be coming back, even...there are a couple of things I would have taken with me."

Oh. He didn't think she was ungrateful. In fact, he felt the hot flush of guilt cross his face. He should have thought. He should have asked, maybe have taken her home to pack first. Except he couldn't imagine how he could have done that. Not while she was so hurt and frightened.

"My Mom's engagement ring," she went on in a small voice, rubbing her right ring finger miserably. "It's all I have of her, really. I know it's just a thing, I know it doesn't matter...but I still feel..." He could hear the tears in her voice and automatically he reached out and lightly laid his hand on her shoulder.

He knew that both of Tess' parents were dead, and that her mother had died while she was still in grade school. And he knew the ring she was talking about too. He'd seen her wear it often. "It does matter," he said fiercely.

"And it's other things too," she burst out. "Photographs and books and things I've had forever. Things Father gave me, or D-" She stopped dead. "...presents," she finished awkwardly. "I know it's stupid. I know...I know they're gone now, but I just...I feel like I've lost_ everything." _

She'd lost her husband, her home, her job, her confidence and self-respect and Rusty just wasn't prepared to let her lose anything else. He might have chosen to live his life out of a suitcase. Tess didn't have to. "I can get your things back," he said determinedly.

"No!" She stood up sharply, staring at him, her hands covering her mouth, shaking her head frantically. "No. Oh, Rusty, I was just being silly, really. I wasn't expecting you to...I couldn't - "

" - you didn't ask," he interrupted easily. "I'm offering, Tess. I don't think I could get everything, but jewellery and books and photographs? I could do that."

"You're talking about breaking into John's home," she said in a whisper, and he didn't know whether or not it was a good sign that she didn't say 'our home'. "Rusty, John gets...he has a temper. He could_ hurt_ you."

Not if Rusty hurt him first. He abandoned the thought with difficulty. "I wasn't planning on going when he'll be in," he promised. "And I wasn't going to break in - you have a key, right?"

"Yes," she said, biting her lip hard. "But I still can't...it's just things, Rusty. You're...you're more important than that."

Smiling warmly, he reached out and took her hand. "Thank you," he said. "And I agree. I promise I won't take any risks, Tess. But let me do this, Tess. Let me get your mother's ring back at least."

Very, very slowly, she nodded.

He had her write out a list of everything she absolutely would want. Nothing very unexpected there. Jewellery and photo albums and specific books. Certainly nothing outlandish and he figured he could easily bring all that, plus maybe some more. He'd have to see.

"It's possible he'll have thrown some of your things out, you know," he pointed out to her gently. Some, or all. He couldn't be sure, but he wanted her at least warned of the possibility.

By the look on her face as she nodded, she'd already thought of that. "He made me sell some things before," she said quietly. "My wedding ring. He said it would help me move on." She gazed down at her hands. "I suppose it did."

"It's your choice when and how you move on," Rusty said, and he meant then and he meant now. "No one else has the right to make that decision for you."

She looked up at him quickly and, impulsively, he leaned over and pressed his hand to her cheek briefly, the gesture of comfort and affection that he might have offered to Danny. She smiled, but there was still a wariness in her eyes.

"I should come with you," she said, as he pocketed the list and her keys.

"No," he said immediately. That wasn't going to happen.

"Rusty - " she began, frowning.

" - Tess, it's not just because I'm trying to protect you," he explained. "Right now, I'm fit and healthy and you're hurt. Now, I'm not going in unless I'm sure that John isn't there, and believe me, I know how to avoid drawing attention...but if I need to run, I can run. Right now, you can't, and I won't leave you no matter what. You understand?"

She stared at him for a long moment, wide-eyed and considering. "Yes," she said at last. "Alright. I'll stay here."

"I won't be long," he promised.

She caught at his arm before he left. "Don't go near John," she begged.

He wasn't sure which of them she was trying to protect. Maybe both. It didn't matter; he gave his word.

* * *

><p>Tess had told him when John left for work, and just as expected the house was deserted when he arrived. He pulled the car up in the driveway, right outside. Possible someone would check the plates, but it wasn't hired in his name <em>anyway, <em>and when they were done here, he'd burn the ID. Without even looking round to see if anyone was watching, he sauntered up to the front door and let himself in. Long as he didn't move suspiciously, he figured he'd have a little while before even the nosiest of neighbours called the cops.

Right. He'd have to move fast. He'd bought several lightweight bags at the airport which should work for carrying stuff. All he had to do was find it.

Didn't look like there was much of Tess here at all. He found the books she'd asked for on the bookcase, all bunched together and he grabbed them along with her high school yearbook and a few other things he was reasonably certain were hers. And that seemed to be everything for the living room. He didn't bother with the kitchen or the bathroom, moving straight onto the bedroom.

Unmade double bed. There was a smear of dried blood on the sheet. He stared at it expressionlessly for a long moment.

He had promised he would only go if John was nowhere around. But fuck, he wished that John would walk in the door right now. His fist tightened convulsively; he wanted to punch and keep punching until the bastard was _dead. _

It hurt to imagine how Tess had been living.

With an effort he turned away and started searching. He found her jewellery box in short order and was pleased to see that her Mom's ring was still there. Looked like most things that Danny had given her were gone though. He sighed and carefully stowed it in the bag, and resumed the search. Tess' photo albums were at the bottom of the wardrobe. Flicking through them quickly, it looked like almost everything had been taken out. All that was left were photos from when she'd been a kid and a few shots of places. No people. No one John could be jealous of, he guessed, and his lip curled contemptuously. What a stupid reason to try and destroy a life.

That was everything Tess had actually asked for, and he spent the next ten minutes packing anything he could find that he thought she might like. Anything and everything - clothes, shoes, purses, more books. He wanted to give her as much back as he could. She'd had enough taken from her.

Before he left, he stepped into John's home office. Tess had said she didn't go in here and that made it seem the perfect place for John to have hid things from her. The desk was locked, but that was hardly going to stop him. He could've unlocked it with a drawing pin, had he been in the mood. Most of it was just accounts, bank statements and letters. Nothing that interesting; enough to tell him that John was in the import/export business, and he made a reasonable profit in bribes and skimmed a little more off the top. And if he was looking for a _mark _that would come in handy. As it was, he ignored it.

Bottom drawer, he found a bank letter addressed to Tess, expressing regret that she'd chosen to close her account and cancel her credit cards. Safe bet she wasn't going to see that money again. Again, he had to fight not to indulge in imagining exactly what he wanted to do to John. But more importantly, beneath that he found Tess' drivers license. Wasn't torn up either - he guessed John had been concerned that he might need Tess to have ID some day. He slipped it into his pocket quickly.

Alright. Time to head back to Tess. He'd left her long enough already. And now, maybe, it was time to talk about leaving town.


	17. Two years earlier 8

_January 20th 1999_

It should probably be worrying Tess just how much she was coming to rely on Rusty.

Every step of the way, from the moment she called him, he'd done the impossible and never complained once. He'd found her, he'd persuaded her to leave John at least for a little while, he'd found her a doctor and made sure she didn't have to answer any questions, he'd anticipated everything she might want or need, he'd got her things back, and now somehow, in less than a morning, he'd got them this wonderful house on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

Once he'd brought her drivers license back, he'd suggested again that they might want to get out of town. She still wasn't completely sure...suppose John missed her? But he'd agreed that they could always come back, and even though she hadn't even _mentioned _John, he'd softly added that he wouldn't walk away from her if she chose to go back to John.

"But," he'd added, with a lightness that didn't fool her for a second. "I'll still try like hell to talk you out of it."

She had no doubt he would. And the trouble was, he might just succeed. The more time passed, the more her injuries healed, the more she began to feel like...she _liked _not being afraid all the time. Not having to look over her shoulder every minute of the day.

Not that she wasn't still scared. She just knew - rationally - that there was less reason now. Even when he was mad at her, Rusty hadn't even made a move to hit her, and he'd promised he never would. Consciously, she trusted that. Unfortunately, her subconscious still needed more persuasion, and she still cringed and flinched every time he moved too fast or too close.

That hurt him, she knew it did. She could see it in his eyes. She was better now at reading him than she ever had been before, and she didn't know if that was because they'd never spent this long alone together in the past, or if he was simply showing her more. Maybe it was a little of both. But her reactions hurt him, and still he went out of his way to get her anything she wanted. And that made her feel...shrewish. And unworthy.

It was...little things. The neighbours came to the door while she was still unpacking, and she hadn't wanted to see anyone. The bruises were fading, but they were still there, and her wrist was still in plaster. The pressing crowds at the airport with their curious glances had been bad enough. She wasn't anywhere near ready to actually talk to people, deal with questions.

Rusty had just smiled at her and told her she could go upstairs if she wanted, and she had, losing herself in arranging everything in a bedroom that was _hers _and a bed that she'd be able to sleep in and not remember...not think of... She buried the tears and the memories quickly, listening to the sound of Rusty charming and dismissing their visitors.

And then she came downstairs, once they'd gone, and Rusty was standing in the kitchen, holding a couple of take away menus. "Asked them to give us a couple of recommendations," he said, smiling. "Apparently there's a seriously good Thai place that delivers."

Thai food. Which she loved and which Danny - and John, for that matter - hated. Once upon a time she would have assumed that was a coincidence. Now she knew better.

The food was indeed delicious, and maybe part of that was her getting her appetite back after being hurt for so long, and maybe some more of it was about knowing that John wasn't there to make jokes about her getting fat. At any rate they ate, and she didn't try to make conversation beyond how good the food was and how comfortable the new house was.

"Are you going to move your things down from New York?" she asked absently, as she took another fish cake, and then bit her lip. She shouldn't have asked that. That made it sound like she was just expecting him to stick around indefinitely and she couldn't _assume. _She was getting too relaxed, that was the problem.

Luckily, he didn't seem to take offence. "I...don't have a place in New York anymore," he said slowly, and that was surprising. "I've got a few bits and pieces in a place in LA. Just clothes and shit, nothing important. I left my car in the airport there though, so I might swing by the apartment if I go collect that." He caught sight of the look on her face and smiled. "I've never really got the hang of having permanent stuff, Tess. That's all."

Right. He could walk away from anything whenever he wanted. The envy was tinged with fear and loss, and she desperately wanted to change the subject. "How come you left New York?" she blurted out.

His smile faded. "I...it was..." He sighed. "I left for some of the same reasons as you, I guess."

"Memories," she said softly. Danny was everywhere, and if she was betrayed, Rusty was grieving.

He reached out and laid his hand on hers and they sat in silence.

She felt close to him right now - comfortable, even - and she really dreaded what she had to say next. But she couldn't just keep on putting it off indefinitely. "Rusty?" she said hesitantly.

"Mmm?" He blinked and refocused on her, like he'd been miles away.

"I think...I think I'd like to call John now," she said in a rush.

This wasn't the comfortable silence of before. She shrank back under the weight of his stare. "Oh," he said eventually.

"You said you didn't mind before," she said hurriedly, practically babbling. "And I can't just leave without saying... He has a right to know that I'm alright at least. It's been almost a week, he must be so worried...I should never have left things like that." She stopped at last. He was still looking at her, and now she realised that it wasn't anger in his eyes; it was fear. Fear for her? Fear that she'd go back to John? She wasn't going to do that...(_was she?_) "I just need to talk to him," she said, trying to be reassuring, trying to tell him what he needed to hear. "Don't worry. I'm not going to tell him where I am or anything."

"Good," he said, absently rubbing his fingers across his mouth. "Okay." He stood up and pulled a cellphone out of a drawer. "Here. I picked this up in the airport for if you wanted to talk to him. He shouldn't be able to trace it, and even if he gets the number, it's not registered in either of our names."

"Thanks," she said, taking the phone gingerly and staring down at it for a long moment. She had to do this. For her own peace of mind, she had to do this. But at the same time, she was terrified, and that was stupid. He couldn't hurt her over the phone after all.

She wondered what he would say. Deep down, maybe she was hoping he'd be pleased to hear from her. That he'd tell her he was sorry and really mean it this time. That he'd beg her for forgiveness, beg her to come back. At the same time, she dreaded it, because if he said all that, she thought she'd _have_ to go back.

"Do you want me to..." Rusty began, gesturing awkwardly towards the door.

"No!" The word burst out of her awash with terror. She couldn't do this without him. "Stay. Please."

His smile was wide with relief. He didn't want to leave her either.

Her eyes fixed on him, drawing strength, she punched in the number quickly and listened, mouth dry, as the phone rang. Maybe he wouldn't answer. And that would be good, until the point where it meant she had to go through all this _again._

"Hello?" John said at last, brusquely.

For a long moment she couldn't answer. That was _him. _She was talking to him after all this time.

"Hello?" he said again, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Is someone there?"

"John?" she said at last, and her voice wavered so much more than she would have wanted it to. "It's me."

There was silence, but she could hear him breathing. "Where are you?" he said at last, and his voice was neutral. Measured. She didn't know if he was angry or upset or anything.

"I can't tell you that," she said at once. "I'm fine, but...I wanted to tell you goodbye. I'm leaving." She winced. That had been so much more blunt than she'd intended.

"You're leaving?" he repeated, his voice sharp. "Tess...I know we've had our problems lately, but we can work them out. This is insane. You can't just run away from your problems. Come back and we'll talk about this like rational adults."

Rusty touched her hand lightly, and she grabbed onto him like a lifeline, squeezing his hand as tight as she could. "No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "No...I...I'm sorry, but I _can't. _You hurt me, John and you promised you wouldn't...I'm sorry, but I won't come back."

"Oh, that's right, play the victim," he said with an ugly sneer. "Don't you think you should take some responsibility? God, you're always so needy and clingy. Always showing off for other men, like they're going to look twice at you, you dumb _bitch. _No wonder you drove me to drink."

She was shaking and it was only Rusty's presence that stopped her from breaking down. "That wasn't all my fault," she said bravely. "Just because - "

" - good luck finding someone else," John interrupted furiously. "No one else would put up with half yourshit. You're damaged goods and you know it. Or..." He laughed bitterly. "You've already found someone, haven't you? _Haven't you?_"

She couldn't say anything. The lump in her throat was too raw and too painful. Rusty made to take the phone away and she shook her head frantically. No. No, she could still do this.

"You fucking _slut. _Did he tell you it's love?" John pressed on. "Trust me, darling, he's only interested in one thing, and that's between your legs. Once he's realised you're not even worth anything in bed, he'll throw you aside and move on, and you'll come crawling back to me."

"No," she said, and she didn't even know what she was denying. Everything. Anything. "Goodbye, John."

"_Don't you dare hang up!"_ he screamed, and she froze, the phone still fixed to her ear. "Now you listen to me, Tess. You are _mine, _you understand me? You love me. You can't just walk away from me like this, you cheap cocktease. I'll find you. You and your new man, and I'll teach you to respect me. You hear me? I ever see you again, you're dead, you - "

Rusty grabbed the phone out of her hand. " - shut up right now," he said to John, as he stood up and Tess couldn't hear the response, but silence didn't seem part of it. "_I said shut up,_" Rusty said, his voice thick with frozen fury, and Tess had never seen him like this, _never. _Miraculously, it sounded like John had stopped talking. "Now. You ever come near Tess again, I swear it'll be the last thing you ever do. You don't get to lay one finger on her. Not ever again." He shook his head. "You're a fucking _moron _you know that? Someone like Tess even _looks _at you and you should be...you had something perfect and you treated it like garbage. You're not a man. You're a maggot. And believe me, I will crush you, if I get the chance."

He hung up the phone.

Tess was staring at him.

He dropped the phone to the floor. "I...I'm sorry," he said. "I lost my temper. I shouldn't have - "

Tess was on her feet in an instant, wrapping her arms around him, and she cried out the broken words of _sorry _and _thank you._

When she went to bed that night she was fully expecting to be woken by nightmares. But oddly, when she did wake a little after two, she couldn't remember having any dreams at all. In fact, for a long moment, as she lay in the dark, she had no idea what had woken her at all.

Then the sound came again and she froze, terrified.

It was the tiniest noise. A quick sort of rasping whisper, like something scratching against a wall.

She didn't know what it was and immediately she was imagining John breaking in, coming for her, coming to teach her respect, just like he'd said he would. He couldn't have got here so fast though, could he? Not unless he'd already known where they were and had just been playing with her on the phone...she had to press her hands against her mouth to stifle the whimper at the thought. She could already feel his hands on her, pinning her down as he pulled his arm back, ready to punch and hit and hurt. No. Oh, please, no.

The noise came again and she thought she heard a voice, and she huddled back in bed, pulling the covers up to her neck like that would somehow be some kind of protection. Desperately she tried to calm herself, and her mind flashed to gentle hands touching her, a soothing voice. (_Danny's voice. Rusty's touch.)_  
>Rusty. If John was out there, she should wake Rusty. He would know what to do. Only...only suppose it was all in her head? She'd have woken him for nothing and she thought of a time or two that she'd accidentally woken John and shuddered at the memory. Not that Rusty would act like that...but could she really risk it? And suppose it <em>was <em>John? She didn't know if Rusty could even do anything. John was tall and strong and powerfully built. Rusty...wasn't. Suppose Rusty got hurt? For her? She didn't know if she could bear that.

And she couldn't go and check on her own, she just _couldn't._

It was probably nothing. She was safe here. She was_ safe._

The noise came again, and this time she _knew_she'd heard a voice and she sat bolt upright.

It had been a whisper and it had been coming from through the wall - from Rusty's room - and before she'd even considered, she was on her feet and pushing the door open and standing out in the hall, listening intently.

The door was closed over. She stared at it for a long moment, chewing on her lip. She shouldn't just barge in. Probably Rusty was on the phone or dreaming or something. She'd figured it out, she knew it was nothing bad, she should just leave him to it and go back to bed.

The sound came again and she heard it clearer now; the quiet scratching accompanied by a soft whimper of pain and fear that was trying desperately not to be heard.

She shivered at the sound of it. Oh, God. That was Rusty? He sounded so..._alone._

Unwillingly, she took a step back towards her bedroom. By the sound of things it was just a nightmare. It was nothing that could actually hurt him, and he'd be embarrassed if she woke him, and he might be angry and...it was none of her business. She didn't want to upset him by sticking her nose where it didn't belong.

But she heard a sound that might have been a sob, and she was pushing his bedroom door open and slipping inside before she'd even thought about it.

He was twisted up in the blankets, huddled against the wall, his hands pressed against it like he was trying to claw through. His breathing was harsh and uneven and even as she stood there, still close to the door, still poised to run, she could hear the catch of fear.

"Rusty?" she called timidly, her voice sounding loud in the near silence.

Rusty didn't wake up, but he made a soft, choking sound that cut her inside.

"Rusty," she said again more firmly and still he didn't wake.

Danny had once told her that Rusty was a light sleeper, and certainly over the last week, he seemed to have woken immediately at _her _nightmares. But now he wouldn't wake up and she didn't know what to _do. _

Part of her still thought that she should just go back to bed and leave him to it. He'd _hate _her seeing him vulnerable like this, after all, and apart from the fact that she didn't want to upset him, it was easy to imagine him waking up and taking the pain and embarrassment out on her physically. And...and she was in his bedroom after all. Even for a good man, that was practically an invitation.

And yet...

And yet she couldn't leave him to suffer, and he _was _suffering, she could see that in the lines of tension through his body, hear it in his voice. Even if she knew with one hundred percent certainty that he would hit her for it, she thought she'd still do the same thing.

Carefully she walked forwards and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. "Wake up, Rusty," she murmured. "It's alright. You're safe." Ignoring the fearful whimper, she sat down beside him, on top of the covers and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close and still asleep, he clung to her desperately and she could feel the sobs shuddering through him. He'd learned to cry silently too. "You're alright," she promised again. "I'm here. I've got you." Like he had before, she leaned down and planted gentle kisses in his hair. "You're safe."

He stilled and all the tension that had melted away returned full force. She could feel him staring at her. "Tess?" he whispered incredulously.

She flinched slightly at his voice, still afraid of his reaction, and immediately he let go of her, sitting up and back. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..." He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "Did I hurt you?" he asked anxiously, looking at her arms where he'd been holding on to her.

"No," she said immediately. No, he hadn't hurt her. He hadn't looked like he'd even thought about hurting her, even for a second. And he was still shaking, and the way he was hunched over, it reminded her...it reminded her of _her._ "I heard you...it sounded like you were having a nightmare."

Unconsciously, he pulled his legs up to his chest. "Didn't mean to wake you, Tess. Sorry. 's nothing to worry about. Go back to bed."

She should do as he asked. Except there was shame in his voice, and he wouldn't look at her and he'd sounded so..._alone._ Instead, she moved further across the bed and wrapped her arms around him again, hugging him close.

He tensed. "Tess..."

"It's not nothing," she whispered fiercely in his "You said you wanted to look after me because I was your friend. Well you're mine, Rusty. Let me take care of you, at least this once."

There was silence for a moment, and she was afraid that maybe she'd overstepped some bounds, that he was going to shove her away. Then he sighed and relaxed against her, his head on her shoulder, letting himself be held.

"Thanks," he said, when he eventually sat up, and somehow she was still holding his hand. He didn't seem to mind. But he reached up with his other hand, brushing his hair away, and even in the dim light she could see the specks of blood.

"What happened?" she demanded, horrified, grabbing his hand and looking closer. His fingernails were broken and his fingers were scraped and bleeding.

He quickly hid his hand beneath the comforter. "Must've got caught on the wall," he said, not looking at her, and she remembered the scratching sound with a shudder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked hesitantly.

For a moment, as he looked at her, she was certain he'd refuse, but instead he sighed and lay down on the bed, moving over to leave room for her to lie down beside him. "Just stuff from when I was a kid," he said at last. "It's not - " He caught her eye before he finished the sentence and grinned faintly. "It was a long time ago," he offered instead.

"Sometimes it doesn't matter how long ago something was," she said quietly. "Some things never stop hurting."

He looked at her quickly, his brow creased, and obviously he knew she wasn't talking about John, or even about Danny. But he reached out and took her hand again and she smiled and right now, this wasn't about her.

"_Do_ you want to talk about it?" she asked again, and this time she already knew the answer. If he hadn't wanted to talk, he'd have shut her out straight away.

"Like I said, it was a long time ago," he said, squeezing her hand gently. "Mom got sent to the pen - I'm not sure for what. There were a lot of options. Anyway, the guy she'd been shacked up with didn't want to bother looking after a kid. He was running...a business...out of the house and said I was in the way. So one morning, I wake up in the basement, and when I eventually managed to feel my way to the stairs, I find I'm locked in. And that was that."

The horror was pressing against her chest and she almost couldn't breathe. "How old were you?" she asked in a whisper.

He shrugged. "Eight or nine, maybe? Don't really know."

That didn't help. That really didn't help. She found herself moving closer to him instinctively, her arms around him, longing to protect him somehow. "How long...?" She couldn't bring herself to ask.

"Don't know that either," he said almost apologetically. "A while." He propped himself up on his elbow and smiled lightly. "Hey. It wasn't that bad, honestly. There was a sink so I always had water, and...the guy...used to throw food down every couple of days. It wasn't - "

She gripped his shoulder fiercely and kissed his cheek on a sudden unstoppable impulse. "It _was,_" she said, her voice hard and cracked. "You were a child and it shouldn't...it _matters,_ Rusty."

There was a strange sort of wonder in his eyes.

"Was it always like that?" she asked after a moment, and somehow they were lying in bed together, holding hands, and she should be feeling afraid or guilty or _something _but somehow nothing had ever felt more natural. More safe. (_Nothing except..._)

"Nah," he said immediately brightly, smiling. "Most of the time it was..." He stopped abruptly and sighed. "Sorry. Sometimes it's difficult not to lie." He took a deep breath and she waited. "Yes. It was always like that, more or less. We moved around a lot, staying ahead of the law and social services. I was never really on the grid, but I wound up in care a few times and sometimes that was better and sometimes it was worse, and eventually I just up and left. And here I am," he added with a smile. "I came out okay in the end."

"Yes you did," she agreed fiercely, squeezing his hand. But he still had nightmares and she wondered... "Do the memories ever go away?" she blurted out and immediately she regretted it. But she didn't want to live her life with the pain and violence living in her head.

He turned his head and looked at her for a long moment. "I'm...not really the best person to ask about that," he said at last. "I don't forget things. They all stay locked up in here." He touched his head lightly. "But I guess some things no one forgets. But maybe they can be - "

" - repressed?" she suggested.

" - I was gonna say dealt with," Rusty told her, sounding slightly amused.

Dealt with. He'd built a life for himself, and however much she might disapprove of what he _did, _he was successful and he had friends and he was brave and independent. She couldn't imagine how she could reach that point. She hadn't succeeded after Dad died, and she didn't think she'd manage now. "You're stronger than I am," she said softly.

He grasped her hand tightly. "_You _underestimate yourself."

Maybe. She didn't know.

He hesitated. "You know, there are support groups and therapists who - "

" - no," she said immediately. She didn't want to talk to anyone. The idea of sharing like that terrified her. Some things were private.

He nodded and she doubted he'd ever spoken to anyone like that either. She wondered what Danny knew. More than her, she'd guess and that made her feel strange inside.

"I'm always here anytime you want to talk," he told her quietly.

She looked him straight in the eyes. "So am I."

There was silence for a while, and Rusty glanced at her curiously. "What was your childhood like?"

She paused, thinking wildly, trying to figure out how to put it in words.

"You don't have to - " he started.

" - I know," she said softly. But she wanted to. Maybe it wasn't what she needed to talk about, but some things no one forgets. "I was ten when Mom died," she began quietly. "I told you she liked high places. One day she climbed up the bell tower of our church and..." She bit her lip hard, and even after all these years she couldn't say it.

"Oh, Tess," Rusty murmured. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry." His arm was around her, his hand stroking through her hair, and her mind was swimming with deja vu.

"I don't even know why," she said, her voice not-quite-trembling. "She didn't leave a note. I remember her crying a couple of times, but I don't know _why. _Maybe if I'd said something..."

"You were a child," he said softly. "You couldn't have known."

(_That was what Danny had said. That was what John had said.)_

"As far as I remember, everything had been normal before that," she went on after a moment. "I was a normal little girl, I went out, I played with friends. But once Mom had gone, Father changed. I suppose that's understandable," she added quickly, glancing at him, and he was listening attentively.

"What changed?" he asked gently.

"I suppose Father wanted me to replace Mom," she said slowly.

His face was unblinking, his eyes filled with horror.

"Not like that," she said hastily.

(_Weekends spent in front of the mirror, wearing Mom's old dresses, Father intently coating the make-up on her face, the pearly pink always clashing with her wrong-coloured hair._ _Not _completely _like that._)

"He just expected me to take care of the house," she explained. "I did all the cooking and the cleaning...he made sure I always came straight home from school and I'd spend all weekend with him. It was little things too...he chose what I wore every day. I wasn't allowed to wear pants or sneakers. I wasn't allowed to watch TV. I wasn't allowed to go out without him there, I wasn't allowed to have friends over or go to their houses...stuff like that. After a few years, I didn't really have friends anymore. It's difficult to relate to someone who has nothing to talk about."

"How long did that go on for?" Rusty asked intently.

"Until...until he died." She swallowed hard. "I was in grad school. Twenty three."

Twenty three and she'd had no idea how to _live._

"Must have been lonely," Rusty commented softly.

She shrugged. "I suppose. By the time I was finished high school, I never really noticed. I was good at being friendly enough that I could normally find someone to sit with in class, at least. But when the bell rang, they'd forget about me and I'd go home and cook dinner and spend the evening with Father. And by the time I went to college, I didn't even bother trying to talk to anyone. I just kept my head down and concentrated on my studies."

Rusty frowned. "I'm surprised - "

" - he let me go to college?" she finished. "He wasn't a monster, Rusty. He knew I wanted to go, and we lived in a university town, so he said it made sense for me to keep living at home." That was half the truth and ashamed, she gripped his hand tighter. He'd told her the truth... "And it meant that anytime I questioned him, or asked for permission to stay late at the library, or go for lunch with someone, or to join the theatre club, or the badminton squad or whatever, he would just point out that as long as he was paying, I'd live under his rules."

This wasn't the story she'd told Danny. She hadn't lied, but she hadn't wanted Danny to think she was a freak so she'd glossed over some of Father's more outrageous rules. She'd told him about Mom, and he'd held her while she cried and it had felt like a catharsis she'd been waiting a lifetime for, but all she'd told him about Father was that he'd been very strict and she'd led a sheltered life until he died suddenly. He hadn't pried, but _she'd _known that _he'd _known that there was more to it than that, and she'd known that he'd respect her wishes, but he was there if she ever wanted to talk and she'd felt...loved.

Now she wondered if maybe he just hadn't been interested.

She'd tried to tell John the same story, but John had demanded details and explanations, and he'd professed his shock and horror at some of what Father did, all the while suggesting that maybe she _needed _protected. Sheltered. He'd put it so _nicely..._

"Are you angry with him?" Rusty asked softly, and it took her a moment to figure out who he meant.

She shook her head.

"He kept you prisoner in your own home," Rusty pointed out mildly. "He stopped you having a normal childhood." He didn't sound judgemental, somehow, and she wondered what he was getting at.

"Are you angry with your Mom?" she asked hesitantly.

He hesitated. "Sometimes," he said eventually. "And sometimes I miss her."

"What happened to her?" she wondered.

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "One day I came home and she just wasn't there. Never heard from her again."

Oh. She turned to look at him. "Do you...ever think about looking for her?"

He looked her right in the eye. "Yes. She hit me and she hurt me and she made my life hell, but she's still my Mom."

She swallowed hard, thinking about John, thinking about how much she missed him in spite of everything. "What stops you?"

"I deserve better," he said simply. "And Danny..." he added awkwardly.

"Danny wouldn't understand," she nodded.

"Oh, Danny would understand," he corrected. "But Danny would be hurt."

"Friends don't let friends go back to their a-abusers?" she suggested, stumbling over the word.

He smiled. "Something like that."

For a while there was silence. Gradually, she fell asleep.

With Rusty sleeping next to her, it was the best night's sleep she'd had since Danny went to prison.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.<strong>


	18. Two years earlier 9

**A/N: I'm really sorry this took so long. All I can say is...never move house. Seriously.**

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><p><em>February 18th 1999<em>

The next four weeks passed quickly. Bruises faded away into memories and she could look in the mirror and as long as she didn't meet her eyes, she looked the same as she always had.

Gradually Rusty started to encourage her to leave the house. A trip to the grocery store every few days, wandering around the local bookshop...nothing too strenuous and he was with her every step of the way.

She wanted things to get back to normal. She just wasn't sure what normal was anymore and she still found herself jumping at loud noises and flinching if anyone stepped too close, and when the drunk panhandler grabbed her wrist outside the store, she was still shaking long after Rusty had pushed him away and taken her home.

He confronted her that night, sitting on the counter and looking at her seriously. "Tess? There's something I'd like you to consider doing."

"What?" she asked in a small voice, and even after all this time, even after everything she knew she believed about him, there was still a sick feeling of dread swirling inside her.

He sighed. "Don't dismiss it out of hand, but I'd like it if you considered learning self defence."

Oh. She bit her lip. "You think that if I'd been stronger - "

" - no!" he said immediately, shock in his voice. "No. Nothing like that. And you don't have to, if you don't want to, but it would make me...happier...if you had more options." He swiped a hand across his face. "Not that making me happy should be what matters," he muttered. "Fuck, this is difficult. Sorry."

She was barely listening. All those times John had hit her. And Rusty thought she should have been able to stop him? Should have been able to fight him off? "It wouldn't work," she objected. "I'm never going to be able to hit like a man." And if she tried...the few times she'd even tried to push John away...it had gone badly. Very, very badly.

"I know," he said gently. "But look at me, Tess." She looked at him. "I'm not the biggest guy around. I'm thin, I'm average height and I'm..." he hesitated. "Not exactly overwhelmingly masculine," he finished with a grimace. "But I know how to hit and I know where to hit, and I know how to break free and run when I have to. That's what I'd like you to learn."

That didn't sound so very outrageous when he put it like that. "Another option," she said softly.

"Exactly," he agreed, smiling thankfully.

But it would still mean that she'd be standing and letting people throw punches at her in order that she learned. She shivered. "What..." She licked her lips. "How were you thinking of doing this? Would you teach me?"

"No," he said without hesitation. "Sorry, Tess, but I don't think that would work for either of us."

She felt a surge of relief. "No," she agreed fervently. "No it wouldn't."

He smiled slightly and rolled his head back, stretching his shoulders. "I've got this friend in town. I've not seen her for a few years but she used to run self defence classes. Think she still does. She's got group classes. For women only...you got a penis, you're not allowed anywhere near the room. And she does private classes too. One to one. I thought you might try that."

Maybe. It didn't sound completely awful...but she just wasn't sure. "Can I meet her first?" she asked.

Rusty nodded. "I'll give her a call."

It was the next week before Tess actually got to meet Rusty's friend. Stan took the cast off her wrist on Friday, smiling and telling her how happy he was that she looked so much better.

"You do look better," Rusty commented as he drove her home. "Brighter. More...whole."

She smiled. "Because of you," she murmured.

He didn't say anything and she would swear there was just a touch of a blush on his face.

But it was true, and that weekend they wandered around the Museum of Contemporary Art and just for a moment, as she stood in front of the Mondrian in wonderment, she forgot everything except the joy of the moment.

"It's beautiful," she said under her breath.

"Good," Rusty said, smiling warmly.

She looked closely at him. "You don't think so?" she asked.

He shrugged and looked at it a little closer. "I think I got a shirt that looks like that..."

She laughed out loud. "Philistine," she said and she could hear the happy affection in her voice, and she could hardly believe it. This was like a dream. A break from the real world, and she didn't know that she ever wanted to wake up.

They went out for dinner that night, the first time they'd tried it, and it was loud and it was a little frightening and she couldn't help but remember other nights with John and what it had led to, but she managed okay.

Somehow, impossibly, she was doing okay.

She still had nightmares, of course. She had one that very night, in fact, but Rusty woke her early on and as they often did, they went downstairs and drank hot chocolate, and she read her book and Rusty dealt cards, as the TV played in the background.

This time, for whatever reason, she found herself watching him. Watching his hands. Dealing cards was never something she'd thought of as a skill, but Rusty made them dance.

"You want to play?" he asked, without looking up at her.

Somehow, she wasn't surprised he'd caught her staring. "Alright," she surprised herself by saying.

"Blackjack," he suggested. "You know the rules?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't gamble but I'm not an idiot."

He grinned. "Fair enough. Sorry."

A few hands went by before she got around to asking. "How did you learn to deal like that?"

He stopped in mid shuffle and considered. "It's difficult to say. A lot of the people I grew up around played and I guess I learned some by watching them. Then Saul taught me some more...Reuben too. But mostly, it's practice, I think."

"Practice?" she repeated.

"What you gotta do if you want to play the palace," he said cheerfully. He looked at her thoughtfully. "You want me to show you?"

"Me?" She laughed at the thought. "I'll never be able to get it. And when would I ever use it?"

"No harm in knowing stuff," Rusty said with a shrug. "And sometimes the showy stuff comes in handy even if you're not playing." As if to demonstrate, he flicked his fingers across the deck and all four Queens leapt out and landed neatly on the table.

"You should've been a stage magician," she said, wonderingly.

"I get stage fright," he told her seriously. "Would you like to learn?" He was looking at her and there was just a tiny spark of...hope...in his eyes. It wasn't that he was trying to mould her, trying to remake her in his own image, she realised. He just wanted to share something he loved with her. Like she had in the gallery.

She smiled. "I'd like that," she said softly.

The gym was bright, modern and state of the art, with a dozen different rooms, a pool and a Swedish sauna downstairs and a juice bar in the lobby. Tess felt more than a little out of place. She'd never really been into the whole gym scene, and she felt overdressed and self conscious, certain everyone was judging her.

She smoothed down the collar of her jacket as the woman behind the counter in the bright green uniform looked over her dismissively before settling her eyes on Rusty. "Well, hello there," she purred. "Can I help you?"

It wasn't like they were together. But she was standing right there, for God's sake, and remembering other times when women had flirted with John in front of her, and she'd been left standing there, awkward and ignored.

Rusty took a step closer to her and reached out and took her hand pointedly. "Can you tell Kat that her six o'clock appointment is here, please?"

The woman pouted slightly and turned to the computer. "There's nothing showing here..."

"Yes, I know," Rusty said politely. "But she is expecting us."

"I'll give her a call," the woman said doubtfully, and they stood and watched the brief conversation before she waved them through and turned her attention to the muscle-bound man in spandex who'd just walked in.

"Sorry," Rusty said in a whisper as they headed for the stairs. "But thanks for saving me from the man eating plant."

"I'm sure you could have handled yourself," she told him, resisting the urge to laugh at the description.

"Not without it getting ugly," he said lightly.

"I take it you met Natasha then," a voice said from above them, and Tess looked up to see a small woman with short black hair grinning down at them. "Hello, Rusty."

"Kat," Rusty said, smiling warmly. "Good to see you. This is - "

" - you must be Tess," Kat said, hurrying down the stairs and shaking her hand. "Blondie there hasn't told me a thing about you, I'm afraid, except that you're maybe interested in getting some lessons."

"Yes," she said a little stiffly. "I...just want to learn."

"Uh huh," Kat nodded, looking at her thoughtfully. "Well, that's no problem. Come on upstairs and we'll see what figuring out where you want to be and how to get you there."

She glanced over at Rusty involuntarily, not quite wanting to go anywhere alone with a stranger, even another woman.

Kat caught the look. "Blondie, you can come along this once, if that's what Tess wants, and since I'm not expecting any other clients. Just don't get testosterone on anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Rusty said with a grin.

"Thanks," Tess said quietly as they walked upstairs. "I just..." She struggled, unable to explain it without giving herself away.

"'s okay," Kat said, as the door shut behind them. "A lot of the women I see aren't comfortable with men around. But then, Rusty's not exactly a normal man."

"I'm standing right here," Rusty protested mildly.

"It was a compliment, Blondie," Kat said, glancing at him.

"Probably," Tess cut in, before she could stop herself, and Kat laughed.

"Oh, you I like," she said cheerfully. "Alright. Let's talk about what we're going to do, and then there's a changing room over there, so you can get ready and we'll try a few things out. That sound okay?"

Surprisingly, it did.

* * *

><p>It turned out that Kat was very easy to get on with, and they set up a schedule of two private lessons a week to begin. Tess didn't know exactly what she'd been expecting, but maybe something more intense and impersonal. Instead, Kat went out of her way to talk about other things. Books, music, theatre...anything and everything. They discovered a shared love of detective novels, and Kat brought in a few for her to try, and she read them eagerly, enjoying knowing she had someone to discuss them with. She'd never been good at making friends, and she didn't kid herself this was anything other than a friendly professional relationship, but still it was...uncomplicated. Nice.<p>

To her relief, the first lessons didn't involve any physical contact at all; they started with stances and postures, how to fall without hurting herself, how to duck and block without losing her balance. In spite of Rusty's words, she couldn't help but think that everything would be so much better if she'd known this before. Everything she learned, she found herself thinking about times with John, and how she could have used it, and if he hadn't actually hurt her, maybe things would have been different.

"Don't punish yourself," Kat said at the end of their second session. "This stuff is for the future, not the past. And hopefully you'll never need it."

She tensed. "Am I that obvious?" she asked quietly.

Kat sighed. "A little, maybe. More so to me. I'm just saying, it doesn't matter what you know now, the point is, you should never have to defend yourself. It's not your fault."

Maybe not her fault, but maybe she could have changed things. So often, John had been drunk and out of control. Maybe just her being able to defend herself would have tipped the balance in their favour. She remembered him calm, caring and attentive...maybe it could have been like that all the time.

"You don't believe me, ask Rusty," Kat added as they walked out of the room onto the stairs, and she smiled as she saw him there, sitting at the juice bar with something green and pink, waiting for her. _(Calm, caring and attentive. All the time.)_

"I don't need to ask him," she said softly.

Taking a sip from her water bottle, Kat eyed her curiously. "So are you and he...?"

"No!" she denied hastily, all thoughts of John and guilt and blame popping out of her head. "Were you? I mean, are you?"

"Oh, God no!" Kat said immediately. "I mean, he's great but I prefer men who're a little more..."

"Manly?" Tess suggested.

As one they glanced over to the juice bar and dissolved into hushed giggles.

"I make it a rule never to date a guy who's prettier than me," Kat added, grinning at her conspiratorially.

Tess nodded. "He doesn't even seem to work at it," she lamented. "He lives on junk food, he doesn't exercise and ten minutes in the bathroom in the morning and he looks like that."

"Well, that's just not fair," Kat nodded. "Mind you, I wonder how he looks before he's had those ten minutes."

Beautiful. But Tess wasn't going to share that.

"Talking of exercising," Kat added. "I was wondering if you wanted to start going running with me sometimes? You said you wanted to get fitter generally. We could go for coffee or drinks afterwards. It would be fun."

She sounded hopeful and Tess beamed. "I'd like that," she said, and Kat smiled warmly.

Later that evening, as she sat at the kitchen counter, practising the riffle shuffle while Rusty did something unwise with a pasta sauce and told her why the Ella Fitzgerald in Speed was just stupid, and just what an Ella Fitzgerald actually was anyway...she came to a realisation.

The cards scattered over the floor and she sat, stunned and staring.

Rusty stopped what he was doing, turning round to face her in an instant. "What?" he asked urgently.

"I'm happy," she said wonderingly.

The smile lit up his face. "Good. You deserve to be."


	19. The Benedict Job 9

**A/N: This chapter has warnings for unpleasantness and adult themes. Yes, I know, just saying.**

* * *

><p>Terry wasn't in his - <em>their - <em>suite when she walked in, and she told herself fiercely that she was stupid to feel relieved. If Terry was here, she'd feel safer. She _would. _

Still shaking, she pulled the door closed tight behind her, staring at it, wondering if Danny was going to try and come in, wondering what she'd do if he _did. _God, she'd never expected to see him again. She'd got _used _to the idea that she wasn't going to see him again, and then he was just there, and he looked at her like...like...

When she was twenty five, she'd decided that the whole relationship thing wasn't for her. Men weren't worth it and she could be perfectly content on her own. And then Danny had come along, and he'd looked at her like she was the only woman in the world and it had been so _good._ It had been like seeing the sun for the very first time after a lifetime trapped in the dark.

And he still looked at her like that now.

She'd started to believe it was all a lie...even more this past year, it had been so easy to think it was all just another mistake, that none of the good stuff was worth the heartache. And she thought she'd done the right thing trying to drive him away. She was with Terry, now. She was settled. Contented. And Danny was still a thief and he'd lied to her...but when he'd _looked _at her...

(_Terry never looked at her like that. John never looked at her like that. Rusty..._)

She took a deep breath. She had to stop thinking like this. Danny was part of the past, and hopefully, please, he'd leave and never come back. If she could convince Rusty that she was fine, she could convince Danny. She had to make them go away. Because if Terry found out...

Terry wouldn't hurt them, she reminded herself firmly. Terry wasn't like that. Terry was a good man, and that's why she had to stay with him. And after tonight, when she'd proved to Rusty (_to herself_) that no matter what she did, Terry would still treat her well, she'd never disobey him again. She'd be the girlfriend he deserved.

There was the sound of a key in the door. She stood with her fingernails digging in her palms and waited.

Everything was going to be fine. Everything was going to be...

Terry strode in and stopped dead on seeing her, his face expressionless. For what seemed like an eternity she just stared at him, unable to speak. Then the door slammed shut behind him and she jumped at the noise, the silence broken.

"G-g.." She cleared her throat. "Good evening, Terry." She tried to sound normal. Tried to keep the guilt out of her voice.

"You weren't at dinner," he stated, his voice soft.

He wasn't even shouting. But for some reason, her legs were trembling and she longed to run. "No. I, uh, I wasn't hungry. I'm sorry."

He continued to look at her and she started shaking even more.

"I'm sorry," she said again, desperately, casting an anxious glance at the door.

With a disgusted tutting noise, he turned and locked it. "I expect you to keep our appointments, Tess. I am a busy man - an _important_ man - and at the end of the day, I like to make a little time to see you. All I ask is for the pleasure of your company. Is that really too much to expect?"

"N-no." She shook her head frantically. "No. I didn't...I didn't feel well, Terry. I had a headache."

"A headache?" He pounced. "I thought you said you just didn't feel hungry. So which was it?"

"It was...I mean, I didn't feel hungry because I had a headache," she tried to explain, and she hadn't meant to lie, lying hadn't been in the plan, but she was _frightened. _Needlessly frightened, she tried to remind herself, only she wasn't listening.

Terry's lip curled. "You had a 'headache' last night, too," he reminded her. "You do seem to be getting a lot of them. Perhaps I should call a doctor?"

"No!" she said quickly.

"I thought not." He picked up the Victoria's Secret bag from the floor where she'd left it, waiting to see if her shopping met with his approval. "After all, you were quite well enough to go out spending my money this afternoon."

It wasn't like she'd _wanted _to. He'd _asked _her to. But as he pulled out the skimpy red and black lingerie, she could only duck her head, ashamed. "I'm sorry," she said, almost inaudibly.

"Do you think I ask too much of you?" he demanded. "All I want is for you to show me a little respect. I give you anything you want. I'd say I treat you well, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes," she nodded frantically. "Oh, yes." He did, that was the _point_ of all this.

"Do I really need to remind you that other men aren't as patient as I am?" he asked, taking a step towards her and she flinched back minutely. "How do you think other men would handle these little games?"

She tried not to think. Tried not to imagine and she was shaking harder than ever now.

He stared at her for a long moment, before shaking his head and sighing. "You really can be excessively stupid, Tess. I do not care for being stood up."

"N-n-n...um, n-no, T - " She couldn't even manage to speak properly, and he snorted with contemptuous laugher.

"Tess..." He shook his head with disgust. "Pull yourself together." With a sudden, violent movement he threw the negligee in his hand at her.

All she saw was something flying towards her head, and with instincts that never seemed to completely go away, she ducked, her arms coming up to protect her face, and she stumbled backwards, tripping over the edge of the rug and falling hard, smashing her face against the corner of the coffee table.

She lay on the floor, shaking and bleeding, and it all felt so_ familiar_.

_(She'd been wrong. Rusty. Please_.)

Dazed, head pounding, blood trickling into her eye, she heard footsteps striding towards her, and instinctively she curled up tightly, trying to hide from the kicks she was sure were going to follow.

"Get up," Terry ordered curtly.

She stumbled to obey and she stood in front of him as he stared.

"A negligee." He shook his head contemptuously. "Other men get women who are graceful and poised. And somehow, I end up with _you_."

"Sorry," she said in a whisper, and unconsciously she reached up to rub at her head.

He grabbed her hand. "Let me see," he said, and he squinted at the her forehead briefly. "It's not that bad," he said at last, with a disgusted sigh.

"You're just being over-dramatic." He narrowed his eyes. "That's the point, isn't it? Throwing yourself to the floor like that. Do you really think you're the victim here?"

She didn't know how to start answering that, and she just looked at him helplessly, wishing he'd stop talking, wishing he'd let her go get herself cleaned up at least.

"Where were you during dinner?" he asked.

"I was here," she insisted.

"That's easily checked," he said, his lip curled. "We'll see." He pulled out his phone and stood in front of her, dialling a number. "Marcia?" he said, and Tess thought of the elegant, enthusiastic PA, and she really, really hoped that Terry wasn't going to ask her to come up to the suite. Every time Terry scolded her in front of Marcia, Marcia looked at her with that expression of contemptuous pity and Tess felt like she was going to melt away into the floor. "I want you to go down to the security office right now and see if Tess left the suite this evening," Terry went on. He listened for a second, and the voice at the other end sounded disapproving, and Tess wanted to tell Marcia to shut up, because she was only making everything worse. "When I want your opinion on my private life, I'll ask for it. In fact, forget it, I'll check in the morning. You just pack your things and get out. You're fired." He hung up the phone abruptly, staring at her angrily.

He'd fired Marcia. She'd never seen him this angry before, never. "I stepped out for a walk," she said quickly, because he would check and she didn't want to be caught lying again. "I needed some fresh air, that's all."

He nodded disbelievingly. "Were you meeting another man?"

"N-no!" she said insistently, and it was the truth, it _was, _because she'd never actually been planning to meet Rusty or Danny. But he didn't look like he believed her, and he had to _make _him believe her. (_It wasn't only herself she was protecting._) She licked her lips slowly and smiled enticingly. "You're the only man for me, Terry, I swear. Do you honestly think anyone else could compare?" With a deep breath, setting aside everything but the need to appease him, her plan to prove Rusty wrong was long forgotten, she brought her hands up to her chest and started massaging her own breasts. "No one else can make me feel the way you do," she said breathily.

There was an unreadable look in his eyes. He nodded down to where the negligee was lying abandoned on the floor. "Put it on," he ordered.

She stared at him for a brief second then, clumsily, she started to remove her clothes.

"No," he cut in abruptly. "Do it slowly. And look at me."

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. This was...this was nothing she wasn't used to. It was like when she'd used to apologise to John, and she'd done this for Terry before, moved to his command only it felt so much worse this time around. She thought of the concern on Danny's face. Of Rusty's soft voice asserting that she deserved more. And she imagined this scene through Rusty's eyes and she could taste bitter vomit at the back of her throat.

She'd wanted to prove Rusty wrong. She'd proved him right.

"I...I don't want to," she tried to say, licking her lips nervously, and the look on Terry's face stopped her. Oh, he knew she didn't want to.

"Do it for me?" he requested softly. "Show me how much you love me. The least you can do is make up for missing dinner."

She could hear the anger simmering beneath his gentle words, and yes, yes, she was afraid of him. She'd driven him too far this time. She'd ruined her own feeling of safety and she'd broken his self control.

Self control. Intelligence. Independence. Quiet passion. All the traits that had attracted her in the first place. She could almost laugh.

Feeling like she was in hell, she turned to face him, undressing for his pleasure, her hands on her own body, turning every movement into a striptease.

Terry leaned back against his desk and watched, his eyes dark and hungry.

Eventually, too soon, she was naked and she stood awkwardly, looking at Terry, resisting the urge to try and cover herself.

"Very brazen," he commented, with a slight smile. He nodded towards the crumpled silk negligee. "Put it on," he ordered.

She hurried to obey, her head pounding and her throat dry. Oddly, wearing the lingerie actually made her feel worse than being naked. She'd picked it out with Terry in mind, bought it with his money, and now it made her feel like she was one of his possessions. She felt dirty and helpless.

Terry picked up her purse and rummaged around in it. She didn't object. Finally, he pulled out a lipstick and through it over to her. "Put it on nice and thick," he said pleasantly. "The way you like it."

Wincing, she did as she was told.

Leisurely, he stood up and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her in front of the full length mirror. His hand stroked through her hair. "Look and tell me what you see," he said softly.

She looked. The woman in the mirror was a mess. Hair bedraggled, mascara running, blood trickling down her face, dark bruises on her arms, dressed in lingerie that was too revealing, too_..._slutty. Her breasts and legs were on obvious display. Her private parts were uncovered for easy access. Her lips were painted, full and pouting. Her eyes were lost and deadened. She looked like...she looked like...

"A whore," Terry whispered softly in her ear, nuzzling her neck.

She nodded, forced to agree. She looked like a whore. She _felt _like a whore. And the contrast was all the worse standing next to Terry, still fully dressed, still immaculate and handsome.

His hand slid up her thigh, between her legs, fondling and caressing, and she gasped as his thumb started to trace soft insistent circles.

"Whore," he murmured again, his voice loving.

She managed to suppress the shudder. This wasn't what love felt like, she reminded herself desperately. (_Was it?_) Rusty...Rusty smiling at her, Rusty touching her, holding her...that was love. She wanted to cling to that, wanted to lose herself in those memories, but Terry's eyes were trained on hers in the mirror, his eyes dark and lustful, and his thumb was speeding up, and she bit her lip hard, choking back the whimper, and instinctively she tried to press her legs shut, but that only made it worse.

Terry jerked his hand away and she stumbled forwards, putting her arms out to catch herself and hitting against the mirror. She stayed there for a moment, her eyes closed, not wanting to look at herself and not wanting to look at Terry.

This wasn't right. This wasn't what she wanted. Terry wasn't like this, normally. He was..._possessive_, and he could be a little heavy handed, and sometimes he was forceful, but he'd never been quite so...she took a ragged breath. This wasn't _right_.

She wanted to get out of here. Wanted to run to Rusty, wanted to tell him that she'd been wrong, that she was _sorry, _wanted to beg him...

"Tess." Terry's voice cut into her thoughts. She stood up slowly and turned to face him. He was leaning against his desk, a cigar in his hands. "I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said softly. "I am not the sort of man who enjoys frightening you. I just want you to understand how much you hurt me this evening. I'm...disappointed, that's all. I expected better from you."

Ashamed, she hung her head, shifting uncomfortably. She should have known better. She'd driven Terry to this, and now she couldn't handle it.

"Tell me you're sorry," Terry ordered quietly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered truthfully.

"Good." Terry smiled. "Now come over here and make it up to me and we'll forget all about this evening."

He leaned further back on the desk, his legs spread, his arousal evident. She knew exactly what he meant, and haltingly, she walked across the carpet and knelt in front of him.

She didn't look up, but she was aware of Terry clipping the end of his cigar, aware of him fiddling with the lighter. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled trying to get his fly open and she couldn't even get _this _right.

The blood was drying on her face. The tears weren't.

He took a puff of his cigar and reached down, his hand resting on her head like a benediction. "Ask nicely, Tess."

"Forgive me, Terry." She couldn't get any further. All she could think of was how Danny had looked when he'd seen her. How Rusty would look if he could see her now. (_Danny. Rusty. Danny._)

"Please," he prompted.

"P...please," she managed and her mouth felt thick and swollen.

"May I," Terry went on, his patience wearing thin, the anger showing through.

She knew what he wanted to hear. "P-please may I s-suck your cock," she said at last. There was a time when she'd never have dreamt of saying anything like that.

The hand vanished from her head. Terry's attention was back with his cigar. "Go ahead," he said benevolently.

Thankful, she closed her eyes, lowered her head and got to work.

(_Danny. Rusty. Danny. Please.)_

* * *

><p>Later, afterwards, and she lay in bed, on her side, Terry pressed up against her, sated and sleeping. Her tears fell silently.<p>

She had started it, she reminded herself. She'd tried to entice him. And before that, she'd stood him up, made him angry. If she played with fire, she should expect to get burned. And it wasn't as if he'd acted anywhere near as...he wasn't John. He hadn't hit her, he hadn't set out to hurt her, he hadn't...violated her, not really. She hadn't wanted to, but she'd been willing. She'd done everything he asked, and she had been wearing that stupid underwear, so really...

She bit her lip savagely, not letting up until she tasted blood.

The truth was, she was so tired of excuses. So tired of everything being her fault. The only one who hadn't tried to excuse himself was Rusty, and what he'd done was so much worse, and when he'd just stood there and _admitted _it...she'd had to leave. There'd been no other choice. Had there?

Terry sighed in his sleep and his grip got a little tighter. His chest was bristley against her naked back, and she was trembling.

Everything she'd always told herself was still true. Terry was a good man, and if she just behaved right, it would all be fine. But she'd messed everything up, and she wasn't sure if things would ever get back to normal, wasn't sure she could ever trust Terry again if they _did._

She was so afraid, and beneath that she was so _angry. _He shouldn't talk to her like that. He shouldn't ask her to do those things when he knew she didn't want to. He shouldn't have made her quit her job, he shouldn't tell her what to do, where to go, what to wear and say and _think. _

She loved him and she hated him. It was all her fault and all his fault. Everything was confused and broken and wrong, and she wanted...she wanted...

The tears fell all over again, and she lay awake till morning.

Morning came and she lay still as Terry rose and dressed, being quiet and obviously trying not to wake her. For some reason, the consideration only made her feel worse.

But Terry could be like that. Was often like that. Even in bed, usually he was a thoughtful lover, and she always tried her best to dismiss her nagging suspicion that his...generosity...was less about her pleasure and more about Terry measuring his performance by some self-set standard.

She wondered how he saw what had happened last night. A demonstration of his control, perhaps, after she'd stepped out of line. But he'd enjoyed himself, she knew he had. She could _feel _he had.

"Good morning, Tess," he said softly, planting a kiss on her shoulder that made her shudder.

Obedient, nevertheless, she rolled over and looked up at him.

He traced a thumb gently down her cheek, caressing her. "I think, perhaps, you should rest today," he told her. "You must be exhausted."

She was. "Yes, Terry," she nodded.

"I...am sorry if I frightened you last night," he said with just a touch of hesitation. "It was regrettable. I wish you had not made me angry like that."

Yes. So did Tess. But she had, and she felt like she knew him better than she ever had before.

She looked down at the bed. "If I asked you to promise not to do that again..." she said in a small voice.

"Of course," he promised instantly, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "I want to make this relationship work, Tess. I'm prepared to put in the effort. Are you?"

She'd had this conversation before. She'd had this conversation with John a dozen times before. The promise that things would be better, the suggestion that they _both _needed to change, and she was the one who did the changing, giving up everything a piece at a time.

"Of course," she said, smiling bravely through the lie. There. They were both lying now.

"Good," Terry said. He glanced at her forehead. "I think, perhaps, we'll have dinner in here tonight. We can make it a special occasion. Wear your black Vera Wang, you know how I like it."

She nodded compliantly and smiled prettily and he kissed her deeply and left.

For a moment she just lay there, shaking, and it felt as though the walls of the suite were closing in around her. Enough was enough. She'd let too many things go, accepted too much, until _this_ became normal. She needed to get out of here. She needed to escape.

The tears were choking her. There was only one place she wanted to be right now.


	20. Two years earlier 10

**A/N: Sorry this took so long - on the plus side, the next chapter is nearly finished so I should be posting that one next week. :)**

* * *

><p>Time passed and gradually Tess became more and more comfortable with her life. She spent more time with Kat socially, and she swapped one of her private lessons for a group session. More people to talk to. Sometimes - oftentimes - they'd all go out for a drink after class, and she was astonished to find how much she enjoyed herself.<p>

It was a few months before she fully realised that Kat thought of her as a friend. This wasn't just something easy and superficial, Kat actually enjoyed spending time with her. It caught her by surprise and it made her wonder – how many other people might have liked her if she'd known how to give them a chance?

On a warm summer day they sat together in a deserted rooftop bar, drinking red wine and watching the world go by below them.

"So how did you meet Rusty?" she asked. She'd been wondering for a while.

Kat studied her glass for a long moment. "I met him during a bad time in my life," she said. "Really, if it wasn't for him, I'd probably never have become a personal trainer." She glanced up at Tess with a tight smile. "It's a long story."

"You don't have to tell me," she assured her hastily, feeling awkward.

"No, I want to," Kat said, smiling warmly at her. "If you can't talk to your friends who can you talk to, right?"

Friends. The word made her feel stupidly happy inside.

"This was back when I was a sales manager," Kat went on. "I sold gym equipment and I was damned good at it, even if I say so myself. And then..." She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. "It's an old story. It was at the Christmas party. We were all very drunk. Me and a colleague slipped away to the cloakroom for a cigarette." She paused for a long moment, her mouth moving silently. "I said no. And he...he didn't listen."

Tess reached out and hugged her impulsively. "Oh, Kat, I'm so sorry," she said, horror struck. She knew how that felt; she remembered how she'd been left helpless and hopeless. Kat was so bright. So self confident. She didn't deserve that.

Kat hugged her back fiercely sniffling ever so slightly. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't want you feeling sorry for me. The point is I went to the police and nothing happened, so I got insistent and we ended up in court. He said some awful things about me and walked out of there a free man. And then he sued me for slander and my lawyer said I had to settle out of court."

Suddenly, shuddering, she felt more relieved than ever that she hadn't gone to the police about John.

"That's awful," she said softly. "It _wasn't _your fault. And having people talk about you who don't know anything...I hate that." She remembered the humiliation, having to hide her face and run away.

"After that I was so _angry,_" Kat went on. "I had no job, no plan and hardly any money left, and one day this man approached me and told me he was a lawyer and he could appeal the sentence and get him thrown in prison if I just gave him some money to get started."

Tess winced sympathetically. "Oh, god." She had enough personal experience that she could see how that was going to work and she found herself praying that Rusty hadn't been part of it. Surely he would _never..._

"Yeah," Kat said, sighing. "He saw me coming alright. But I was desperate. I'd given him almost all my money when one day I walked out of his office and a man was standing there waiting for me. He looked at me seriously and told me I was being conned."

"Rusty," Tess said with dawning realisation.

"Rusty," Kat agreed with a slight smile. "He'd already been planning on targeting the lawyer when he realised what he was doing to me. I never told him the whole story. He just knew about the lawyer and the money, and he got it all back from me, plus a hell of a lot more. For both of us. And I guess we've been friends ever since. He just turns up every now and then and we go out drinking or to dinner, or whatever. It's fun. A lot of the women I teach...it's nice to be reminded that _not _all men are complete bastards, you know?"

"Just most of them," Tess said grimly.

"Maybe," Kat said, leaning back in her chair and drinking her wine. "Anyway, thanks for listening. Sometimes it's just good to vent."

"I'm sorry," Tess said hesitantly. "About all of it. I wish that hadn't happened to you."

"Me too," Kat said quietly. "But I'm stronger now. And happier. I own my own business, I'm settled – secure. I have friends...life is good." She looked at Tess intently. "Life does get better, honestly."

She nodded. "Mine's an old story too, you know. I met a man who promised me the world, and I wasn't clever enough to see through him, and I wasn't brave enough to get out when he started hitting me."

"Hey." Kat caught her arm. "Don't think like that. Don't _ever _think like that. When you run yourself down like that, you're giving the bastard what he wants. You've left him – don't give him head room, you understand me?"

"It's difficult," she said quietly. "Sometimes...sometimes it feels like he's still inside me."

"I _know,_" Kat said. "It feels awful and impossible. But every day it gets a little easier – just a little, so you don't even notice it – and in the end, you wake up one morning and you're free."

That sounded nice. The sun warmed her face. Kat trusted her and wanted her happy, and she wanted _Kat _to be happy, and wasn't that everything friendship was supposed to be?

It felt like she was falling into a better place.

But best of all, Rusty was always there for her, and she still found herself marvelling over that. Once they'd been living in LA for a little over two months, and she was feeling stronger and less desperately dependant, she'd quietly broached the topic of whether Rusty was planning on moving on. He'd saved her, already. If he wanted to leave...she could cope.

He looked at her for a long moment, his hand rubbing absently around his mouth. "Hadn't thought of it," he said at last.

"Really?" she asked hopefully.

With a slight, almost-but-not-quite-sheepish grin, he looked aside. "I...I have to admit, I like having someone to come home to. Someone to talk to. 's nice. I enjoy spending time with you, Tess, and as long as this little arrangement is fine with you, it's fine with me."

There was a warm glow inside her chest. As far as she was concerned, this little arrangement could last forever. And why shouldn't it? It wasn't like either of them were likely to start a relationship. Rusty didn't really do them, and for her, that chapter of her life really was over for good this time. Maybe they'd muddle along together for the rest of their lives, and that would be just fine with her. "I'm glad," she said simply. "We make for good room mates."

His lips twitched. "If I picked up after myself a little more, right?"

"It wouldn't hurt," she conceded, her eyes sparkling. She frowned suddenly. Because he _did_like this and that made her wonder. "When me and Danny first moved in together...were you lonely?" She knew that they'd lived together for an age. Since they were teenagers, in fact, and this sort of company...it would be an awful thing to have to learn to live without.

"Tess..." He sighed. "Do you really want to start talking ancient history?"

"That was a yes," she said, suddenly feeling unbearably guilty.

"Don't," he warned quietly. "You weren't...you were never jealous. You never tried to stop Danny from seeing me."

Maybe she'd never known she could. And now and then she had felt little twinges of envy when she saw the way Danny had looked at Rusty. She didn't like feeling left out, and that was stupid, because one way or another she'd been left out most of her life. But now she didn't like the thought of _Rusty _being left out. Being lonely. "It's not nice," she said quietly. "Living alone."

"I don't mind it too much," he said slowly. "It's just I think I like this _better." _He tilted his head to one side. "You lived alone before you met Danny, didn't you?"

She nodded. "I'd never lived with anyone else before. Except Father, obviously." She bit her lip. "Relationships aren't worth it," she said with an aching sigh.

He looked at her, brow creased. "Tess, did...I mean was John the first..."

"No one else ever hit me," she assured him quickly. "But..." She bit her lip again, harder this time, old feelings of shame creeping in. "The first time I ever went on a date I was twenty three. It was just after Father died. I'd taken a week off grad school after the funeral. I thought it would help me get my head together, but I had no one to talk to. I had no friends...I wasn't even used to leaving the house on my own so I just sat in the dark for a week by myself. And then when I went back to school..." She took a deep breath. "In college I'd mostly gone unnoticed. The class sizes were big enough that I was just invisible. But in grad school, people noticed me. They knew I never went out with them, they knew I didn't drink or date or...or have_ friends_. So they whispered behind my back, and said I was stuck up and cold. They called me the Ice Queen."

"You might be the least cold person I've ever met," Rusty said quietly, and she shot him a grateful smile.

"They didn't know that though," she pointed out. "They didn't know me."

"Exactly," Rusty nodded sharply. "They didn't know, and they should've been too old for that sort of petty bullying."

"I think that happens at all ages," she said, remembering how the girls at her work had used to make little catty comments when she came in late after John had been at her."Anyway, they all knew about Father, and most of them just mumbled how sorry they were, but one guy...Stefan...he asked if I'd like to go out with him after class. Just to have a friendly ear and a chance to get away from everything." She heard his smooth, earnest voice in her head as though it was yesterday. "I don't know why I said yes."

"You were lonely," Rusty said quietly.

Yes. She'd been so lonely, thinking of the dark house and the silence waiting for her. But she'd been lonely most of her life and she should have known better. "He took me to a quiet little restaurant, and he listened when I talked about Father, and he said all the right things, and he bought me wine, and when I got upset he offered to take me back to his place." She stopped dead, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Oh, Tess." Rusty's arms were tight around her, and she could _feel _the horror and the anger radiating off him, and she knew it wasn't aimed at her, and she clung to him for a long moment.

"It wasn't..." she struggled to explain. "I wanted to. He kissed me, and I'd never felt anything like it, and I told him I was a virgin and he said he'd...teach me. And he did."

"He took advantage of you," Rusty said, his voice trembling with barely-contained fury. "_Bastard._"

There was actually something comforting about his anger. It was good to know he didn't blame her, and didn't think it was _funny. _

"When I went into class the next day," she went on in a low voice. "Everyone was pointing and giggling at me. There was a poem on the board, congratulating Paul on 'melting the Ice Queen'. The men all gave him high fives...I heard one of them asking him to rate me out of ten. I...I tried to ignore it. I didn't know what else to do. And then a girl I'd never even _spoken _to walked up and asked me in front of everyone if I'd really been a virgin." She'd ran out of class and never come back. In the end, she'd transferred to another school, in another state, and she hadn't gone back to her home town since.

For a long moment, Rusty just held her and she leaned against his shoulder gratefully. "Guess I can see why you might give up on relationships," he said at last. "But it isn't supposed to be like that, Tess, and it certainly isn't supposed to be like it was with John."

"Does it matter what it's _supposed _to be like?" she said in a small voice. She knew what books and the movies said. (_She knew how she'd felt with Danny._) But in the end, all she'd ever found from love was pain and heartache and degradation.

He hesitated for a second. "Yes," he said at last, with growing conviction. "Yes, because there are people out there who really are happy together, and you deserve that too."

"I dated a few times after Stefan," she admitted quietly. "Most of them gave up after a couple of dates when I wouldn't go to bed with them. There were two that lasted a little longer. I started off thinking they were different but..." She bit her lip. "Jeff 'borrowed' almost fifteen hundred dollars from me over two months. It all seemed reasonable at the time, he needed his car fixed and I..." And she was stupid. "And Marco got drunk during the superbowl and threw a bottle at me when his team lost." She shivered at the memory. "He was screaming at me, over and over. I ended up hiding in the bathroom until he passed out."

For a moment Rusty didn't say anything, and when she looked up at him his eyes were closed tight and he was breathing heavily, trying to control the anger.

"Sorry," he said, a second later, smiling reassuringly at her. "Just...yeah. Sorry."

"I shouldn't have said anything," she said quietly. Even after all this time, even though she trusted him like she'd never have believed she could trust _anyone _again, she still hated it when he was angry.

"No," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have reacted like that. But I want to track every last one of them down and kill them."

"You wouldn't do that," she said with absolute confidence.

His smile was reassuring and affectionate. "Not all men are like those bastards, Tess. There are good men out there."

She laid her hand on his. "I've only found one."

He looked away quickly, but he squeezed her fingers lightly and she knew he understood how she felt.

More and more she found herself holding his hand, even in public. She felt stronger knowing he was there, and it started off as something she'd do when she was feeling anxious, but then she'd take him by the hand if there was something she wanted to show him, and then it just became a habit. Like leaning against him while they were watching TV. Somewhere along the lines, Rusty had just come to mean comfort to her. And she was happy.

For her birthday, he took her to see 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead' in a small theatre she hadn't even known existed. The play was brilliant, and afterwards they went out for supper in a private room in one of LA's most exclusive restaurants, and she exclaimed with delight over the beautiful pendant he'd bought her.

_(She was lit up and alive and she heard the waitress whisper they made a beautiful couple. She didn't even think of correcting the assumption.)_

And a few weeks after that it was Rusty's birthday, and she booked them on a cocktail masterclass in a trendy fushion bar, and they laughed together and ate and drank, and when they stumbled home, her arms were twined around his neck.

"I absolutely adore you," she whispered intently.

He looked down at her gravely. "The feeling is entirely mutual," he said, and they laughed some more.

They had fallen into easy patterns now, spending most of their days together. They would go out, or she would read while he watched TV, or they would play cards together. The first time she managed to deal out a Royal Flush she thought that she might just die at the expression of pride and pleasure on his face.

The nightmares still came, of course. She dreamed that John came after her. She dreamed she'd never left. She woke up crying and afraid, and if Rusty wasn't already there, waking her up, she would go and find him and they would go downstairs and sit in the kitchen, drinking hot chocolate.

Those were the times she'd tell him things. She'd tell him what she'd dreamed, she'd tell him what John had done, and he would hold her tight and tell her fiercely that she was safe, that it had never been her fault, that he was here and he was never going to leave, and she believed him.

When she went back to sleep, she slept better with him beside her.

She wasn't alone.

It had been a little over six months when she came in from her weekly run with Kat, and found Rusty waiting for her in the kitchen, holding a folder.

"Hi," he said, perching on the kitchen counter, smiling at her.

"Hello," she said, looking at him and wondering. "What's going on?"

He looked away from her. "Do you want a coffee - " he asked, reaching for a mug.

" - I'm fine," she told him levelly. "What's going on?" She knew him well enough to know that _something _was.

Fingers rubbing round his mouth, he sighed. "Tess...I need to talk to you, and I don't want you to worry."

And now she was definitely worried. "What's this about?"

"Money," he said bluntly. "We're...running a little short. It's not desperate," he added, seeing the look on her face. "We're a long way off broke. But we've got nothing coming in, and if we carry on like this, we're gonna have a problem."

Oh. She swallowed hard. She hadn't thought about money in a while. Soon after they'd moved here, Rusty had helped her set up a new bank account and he'd put a sizeable lump sum in it, in spite of her protests, saying that the last thing he wanted was for her to feel like she had to come to him to ask for anything she wanted to buy. And she'd felt overwhelmed by the gesture - and she _didn't _think that was just her, no matter what Rusty might say - but the feeling of independence it had given her had been wonderfully reassuring. And, even though she'd never exactly splurged on anything, the money had been noticeably topped up at regular intervals.

She didn't think about money, and she felt an overwhelming rush of guilt-laden reality. Because Rusty talked about 'their' money, but really, it was his. It was his lifesavings they'd been living on, and she felt every inch the freeloading parasite John had once called her.

"I could get a job," she suggested in a small voice. She wasn't sure if she was ready, but she should be willing to give it a try at least.

He looked thoughtful. "You could," he agreed. "It's not that I think that's a bad idea, but I want you to go back to work cos you feel ready. Not because you think you need to."

"So what were you thinking?" she asked.

"Two options," he told her, turning the folder over. "I can get a job...or I could

pull a couple of _jobs._"

Her heart missed a beat. "Stealing?"

"Conning. Yes," he agreed, looking at her evenly.

It was obvious which one he'd prefer. She stayed calm. "Are you asking my opinion?"

"More than that," he said with a sigh. "As long as we're living together, I don't want to be doing anything you find...questionable. You say you're not happy, I won't mention it again."

She bit her lip. "What sort of job did you have in mind?" she asked, wondering if he even knew. "Real job, I mean," she clarified quickly.

"Project management," he said promptly, pulling out a handful of what looked like completed application forms from the folder. "There's a few things in the neighbourhood. Construction projects. To be honest, it's not that far off what I normally do. I know I could do the work but," he looked apologetic. "I'd need to fake references and qualifications and things. A degree, a high school diploma...that sort of thing."

"Wouldn't you be working under your real name?" she asked with a frown. "Can't you just use your real ones?"

He looked at her for a second. "I never - "

" - oh," she said, getting it immediately. "Sorry." It might not matter to him, but she'd never want to make him feel uncomfortable.

He smiled an acknowledgement. "Like I said, I can do the work," he went on. "It would only be getting the job that would be a con."

She believed him absolutely. If she said she wasn't happy, he'd go out and get a job, probably for the first time in his life, and he'd work hard at something he didn't care about, and she was sure he'd never say a word of complaint.

Was her happiness really all that mattered?

She trusted him with her life. With more than her life. And he was the one person who had never let her down. Was she really prepared to say that what he wanted was wrong, without even hearing him out?

"Okay," she said after a long pause. "Tell me about the con."

For a second, he just blinked at her as though lost for words.

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Rusty, you'd filled out the application forms for the project management thing. I refuse to believe you weren't just as prepared for this. What...who are you wanting to steal from."

He grinned briefly, and pulled out another sheet of paper. There was a photograph of a man and lines of notes in Rusty's handwriting. "Okay. This is Glen Prentice," he told her. "He's a high price lawyer. Specialises in making sure people with money don't have to obey the law. Last month a client of his ran over a kid on a crosswalk when he ran a red light. After Glen got the case, the client wound up paying less than a hundred dollars damages."

Oh. "Not a nice man," she nodded.

"Not in the slightest," he agreed. "I could give you a long list of similar incidents. Point is, he's rich and he doesn't deserve to be."

"So what are you going to do?" she asked expectantly. "If I say yes, I mean," she added hastily.

He rolled his shoulders and looked at her seriously. "He's into wine. Fancies himself a collector. Sees it as an investment. I'll introduce myself as a slightly unscrupulous dealer. Say I've got a case of wine looted from the Bastille in 1789 that can't be sold on the open market for legal reasons. Then I'll let him name his price."

"As simple as that?" she asked.

"As simple as that," he agreed.

So if he wasn't prepared to break the law, he wouldn't get stung. She pursed her lips for a long moment. "He deserves it."

"He deserves worse," he told her. "But this is what I do."

"Is it dangerous?" she asked.

He hesitated. "You know I'd never do anything that might put you in - "

" - not what I asked," she cut in. "Is it dangerous?"

"A lot less than most things," he said honestly. "And I would be careful, Tess. I'm good at what I do."

There was absolute sincerity in his voice, and still she hesitated and she wasn't even sure _why._ What he was suggesting...she was having trouble believing it was even wrong. Yes it wasn't...conventional, but this was Rusty. He wasn't even on nodding terms with conventionality, and she thought about everything he'd done for her. None of that was conventional either. And what was the alternative? He'd said he could do the work, she was sure he would do the work, but working nine to five, dressed in a sober suit, pinned into place...

He was the best friend she'd ever had. Did she really want to mould him into something he wasn't?

"Alright," she said at last.

"You're sure?" he asked, looking fixedly at her.

She nodded. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Of course," he said easily.

"_Promise _me," she insisted.

"I'll be careful, Tess," he said softly. "I promise. And I'll let you know what I'm doing every step of the way."

"You'd better," she warned.

He smiled at her then, his eyes crinkled up at the corner, and he leaned forwards and lightly kissed her on the forehead, and she grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. She couldn't lose him. She needed him.


	21. Eighteen months earlier

**A/N: InSilva says I'm tofu...**

* * *

><p>The first time Rusty went out to con Glen Prentice, Tess ambushed him in the kitchen with a little sandwich bag.<p>

"It's a packed lunch," she said unnecessarily.

He looked down at it wonderingly.

"I thought you might get hungry," she said hurriedly. "And I wasn't sure if you would be able to stop and grab something to eat. I'm sorry, it's - "

" - it's not," he interrupted, and he looked up at her the smile bursting out of him. "Thank you." It wasn't just for the lunch, although that was both unexpected and unexpectedly smileworthy. No one had ever made him lunch like this before, and the simple care and affection in the gesture brought an embarrassing lump to his throat. And Tess had done this because she wanted him to know that she really was okay with what he was doing. And she _wasn't, _not completely, but he thought that was more to do with her concern for _him _than for Glen Prentice.

She smiled back at him warmly, and there wasn't a hint of the self conscious hesitation there had been before.

Everything with Glen ran smoothly, and Rusty found it easy to lose himself in the intricate thrill of playing the game. Oh, it had been too long. Not that he regretted a second of the last six months, of course, but he'd _missed _this. And it was even better, knowing that he was going home to Tess and friendship and warmth and laughter. Throughout the week he found himself seeing things and thinking 'I must remember to tell Tess', where once upon a time it would have been 'I must remember to tell _Danny'_. It was nothing he'd been expecting, but he _liked _this friendship between him and Tess. They fit together, somehow, and he'd do anything for her. Friendship, the job, and he was happy. Right now, the only thing that would make his life better was if Danny was here.

It was coming up for three years now. He'd have thought that at some point it would get easier, but the truth was, he missed Danny every day, _worried _about Danny every day. And he had no one to talk to except Tess, and he could talk to Tess about everything _except _Danny.

He didn't know what would happen when Danny got out. He just knew that he didn't want to lose either of them. Somehow, Tess had got that important to him.

And he didn't talk to anyone except Tess. Six months ago, he'd stopped answering his phone. Saul had called a few times...and Livingston, Reuben, Eleanor, Frank...and he'd texted each of them back to assure them he was fine, not in any trouble, but he was gonna be unavailable for the forseeable future. No one had come looking, at least. The truth was, mostly people called him because they had a job they needed help with, and at first he'd been unable to even contemplate leaving Tess, even for a second, and then, later, as Tess grew stronger, staying away had simply become...a habit, he supposed. He was sure that Tess would be able to cope just fine if he went away for a few days, but somehow he didn't want to. He'd worry too much, maybe, and maybe he just didn't want to have to try and explain where he'd been these months.

Tess started talking about looking for a job soon after he started working. Once she had a job, he promised himself. Once Tess had a job and was settled, he'd try calling Saul and see what was going on in the world.

In the meantime, the cons kept coming.

He'd never thought of himself as much of a teacher - he wouldn't have thought he had the patience for it for one thing - but he'd promised he would explain what he was doing to Tess every step of the way, and surprisingly she seemed interested, and not just in making sure he wasn't doing anything she disapproved of.

Once Glen Prentice was left smugger and poorer, he moved on to figuring out how to deprive a particularly unpleasant banker of the expensive-but-hideous diamond brooch that was her pride and joy.

"Is this you striking a blow for morality or for fashion?" Tess asked, grimacing at the picture.

He grinned. "Maybe I think it would bring out your eyes," he teased and he laughed at her fleeting expression of horror before she rolled her eyes and called him an idiot.

He spent days pouring over floor plans and schedules, explaining all the little details and ideas as they occurred, and Tess listened and watched and asked quiet incisive questions that led him off in whole new directions. Truthfully, he'd never had to explain himself in this way before. Mostly, Danny already knew what he was thinking, and anyone else either had to keep up or get the highlights later. This was a different way of working. Not better, not worse, but definitely different.

On the other hand, the way that Tess brought him food and demanded he ate it, and cajoled him into going to bed after he'd been up for thirty eight hours, but simply sighed indulgently when he got up again after barely an hour because he thought he might have tracked down the second exit in his head...oh, that felt frighteningly familiar.

But in the end he managed to figure out the banker, and he and Tess celebrated with an impossibly extravagant dinner in a five star restaurant in Hollywood, and afterwards he took on a crooked classic car dealer, an obnoxious theatre critic, a bullying bar owner...the list went on. And Tess knew what they had done and what he would do, and she supported him every step of the way.

Of course, there had always been another option to get money. He might be running through his savings, but there was still Danny's money, lying untouched. And Rusty had access to that money, and Tess had a right to that money, and if Danny thought for a second that either of them needed it...he would want them to take it. Expect them to take it. Hell, he'd be hurt that they didn't.

And still Rusty couldn't. He knew Tess would never want that. Far more than she wouldn't want him stealing.

_(And maybe, just maybe, Rusty was too guilty to consider it.)_

Tess came in late one night after dinner with Kat, while he was intent on creating a fake resume to get hired in the bar, and after they smiled their hellos and he'd fetched her a glass of wine, she settled down on the sofa and started idly shuffling cards. He smiled to see it; she really had got _very _good. But then he got distracted by his forgery, and it must have been an hour later that he realised she'd abandoned the cards in favour of some paper he'd left lying around, and she was looking at him intently.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

Startled, she blinked, looking away from him and pulling the paper against her chest. "What? Oh! It's nothing," she said, but the mixture of shy embarrassment and wistfulness in her voice suggested that maybe she'd actually quite like to share.

He strolled over and sat down beside her. "May I see?" he asked, and waited patiently while she considered.

"It's not very good," she told him nervously as she uncovered the paper.

It was a pencil sketch. Of him, clearly in the midst of thought, his fingers against his mouth, his eyes far away. He stared down at it for a long moment, absolutely dumbstruck.

"It's fantastic," he said sincerely, and it _was._ "But you're seriously flattering me." He'd never looked that good in his life. Oh, he knew perfectly well he was physically beautiful but this...this really wasn't about the physical and it almost frightened him, somehow. It was like Tess had told him exactly how she felt about him with an HB pencil, and it was huge and raw and wonderous and everything he'd normally shy away from.

"You don't like it," she said in a small voice. "I'm sorry."

He reached out and caught her hand. "I love it," he said, looking her straight in the eye, not trying to hide what he was feeling, trying to share everything in his head. "You know I don't lie to you, Tess. It's amazing, I'm just..." He hesitated, searching for the right word. "Overwhelmed," he said at last, his voice a whisper.

She looked down at the picture for a long moment and he _knew _that she knew what he was seeing. "You saved me, Rusty," she said at last. "I'd had a year with John and sometimes when I looked in the mirror in the morning I didn't recognise the woman looking back. If you hadn't come when I called...if you hadn't found me...if I was still with him..." The tears were falling steadily now, and Rusty could feel his own eyes prickling. "I think I'd be dead by now. In all the ways that matter, at least. You _saved _me, Rusty. So don't tell me I'm flattering you, because it's just not possible."

He gathered her in his arms, held her close and kissed her as she cried, and she clung to him tightly.

(_He tried not to think of Danny_)

The next day he bought her a sketch pad and and a set of expensive pencils, and she smiled and thanked him and they said no more about it.

She took up sketching enthusiastically, and for a while the house was filled with drawings of fruit and vases and nearby buildings, and she got some paints and an easel and he had a few of their favourites framed.

Then, one day, he came in to find her sketch pad lying abandoned on the sofa, and when he picked it up he found himself looking straight at Danny.

Oh, Danny. There was a physical pain in his chest.

She'd caught him absolutely. The way his eyes crinkled, the fond quirk to his mouth, love and affection and devotion, and it _hurt. _Oh, God, did it hurt. This was the way Danny looked at Tess. This was the way Danny should be looking at Tess right now, only Danny had gone and got himself caught, and he was in prison and Rusty was living with his wife.

In his mind, he could see the hurt and bewildered betrayal in Danny's eyes.

He and Tess...they lived together, laughed together. They kissed and held hands, and he'd lost count of the nights they'd shared a bed, holding each other tightly. Might not be a love affair in the strictest sense, but some lines started further back than sex.

Danny would understand the reasons behind all this. Danny would understand what brought them here. But that didn't mean Danny wouldn't be hurt, and that didn't mean Danny could forgive, not Rusty and not himself.

(_After all, if Danny hadn't lied to Tess, if Danny hadn't got _caught, _then Tess would never have met John, would never have been hurt and beaten and broken. Sometimes, when Tess' nightmares left her shaking and crying, sometimes as he lay in the dark he could almost hate Danny for that.)_

He supposed he should have done things differently, only he couldn't imagine how. What could he have done? Taken her to some woman's shelter when she called, or just set a few more boundaries, been a little less open, not been quite so quick to offer comfort and affection? He shuddered at the thought. He'd given Tess what he thought she needed, and in return she'd been warm and friendly and funny and...and he loved her.

He could admit that in the privacy of his own head. He loved her, and it was just as bright, just as vivid, just as all-consuming as the way he loved Danny.

Oh, Danny. Sorry.

There was a noise behind him and he turned to see Tess in the doorway, watching him.

With a start of hasty guilt, he dropped the sketch pad, and it tumbled back onto the sofa, the sketch of Danny still uppermost. "Sorry," he said.

She walked up behind him and grabbed the sketch book. "My mind was wandering," she said defensively. "I wasn't...I don't miss him."

He studied her for a long moment, wondering. "Don't you?" he asked softly.

She screwed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again her gaze was intent and sincere. "What I miss...it was all based on a lie, Rusty. It wasn't real."

"Danny did really love you," he said, and then, panicked at his mistake, he corrected himself. "Does love you."

"Then why did he lie?" she asked.

He sighed. "Because he was afraid of losing you. Because he thought you wouldn't understand. Because lying is so much easier."

For a second she looked at him, her head tilted to the side. "Are you defending him?" she asked, and it was a genuine question. She wasn't blaming him for defending Danny, she was wondering if he even _was _defending Danny.

His arguments lacked the vehemence they should have had. "No," he said, and it killed him inside. "But he loves you. He really does."

"Maybe love isn't enough," she said quietly. She looked down at the picture again. "I do miss Danny. But I miss John too. I think I'm better off without them." She looked up at him. "Can't this be enough?"

Was it? He hesitated. "You know, if you ever did want to try dating again...I wouldn't mind or anything."

She laughed. "I know. But I don't think I ever will." She looked up at him anxiously. "But you know that you can, right? I know you haven't been seeing anyone, but I don't want you to shut yourself away for my sake."

He smiled. "I'll keep that in mind," he said lightly.

"Right." She looked back down at the picture. "Here's to moving on," she said, and she made as though to tear the picture to pieces.

All thoughts of the betrayal in Danny's eyes left his mind; it was just Danny, and he didn't want...he couldn't bear...

He must have made some sound, because Tess looked up at him, staring for a long second. Then she shut the sketchbook, and tossed it down on the table without another word.

Later that night, he found the picture of Danny lying on his dresser. He folded it up very small and tucked it away in his wallet, and tried to forget it was there.

It was about six weeks after Rusty had started working that Tess started looking seriously for a job. For a while the house was full of printed out job descriptions and half filled out application forms - anything in the area that was remotely connected to art - and Rusty made cups of coffee and read over personal statements and tried to do anything that was needed.

"You know, there's no reason you should only be looking here," he told her seriously. "We can up sticks and move anywhere you like. I've got no ties here."

She looked up at him and smiled. "I suppose I could start checking San Francisco as well."

He shrugged. "San Francisco, Chicago, Paris...Tokyo, if you like, though my Japanese isn't the best."

"Paris?" she said softly, her eyes sparkling.

"Why not?" he said simply. "Don't let anything hold you back."

"I won't," she said determinedly, like she was seeing some glorious future unrolling in front of her.

But then the rejection letters started coming in. They were polite and brief and soulcrushing, and with each new opportunity lost, Tess seemed to shrink a little.

"I can't even blame them," she told him miserably. "I've been out of work almost two years with no explanation other than 'personal reasons', and then before that I had all those sick days. They've got no reason to take a chance on me."

Rusty was inclined to disagree. Really, he wanted to go and explain to each potential employer exactly what they were missing out on here. And it was only the thought of exactly how much Tess would hate that which held him back.

"But I swear, if I could just get an interview, I'd be able to show them I can do the job," she went on.

He bit his lip hard.

She looked at him. "I was half expecting you to offer to make it happen," she said slowly.

"I probably could," he admitted with a sigh. "At the very least I could fake you up a job that covered the missing time. But that's not what you want...is it?" He tried not to sound hopeful. He longed for her to say yes, but at the same time he was so damn proud to see her standing on her own two feet after everything that had happened.

"No," she said, shaking her head determinedly, not even hesitating. "No. I'm going to do this on my own."

The smile burst out of him. "That's my girl," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Come on. Let's order pizza and I'll take a look at those application questions for you."

She finally got an interview almost two months later, in a large gallery in Houston, and Rusty organised flights, transport, a hotel...everything he could think of, and he found a book of the most common interview questions and sat and asked her them on the plane.

She was hopeful before she went in, and she kissed him for luck and he sat and waited, his fingers crossed, and afterwards she was optimistic and enthusiastic, convinced it couldn't have gone any better, and even though he wasn't going to tempt fate, on the flight back he was already considering just what they'd need to do to move.

Three days later she walked into the kitchen, letter in hand, and he could read what had happened on her face.

"They already had someone in mind," she said miserably, reading from the letter. "The vacancy was filled internally...why did they even bother advertising it then?"

"Oh, Tess," he said, standing up and hugging her tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Yes," she said, closing her eyes. "Me too."

Kat came round that night with commiserations and a bottle of tequila, and Rusty ordered pizza and four different flavours of chocolate ice cream, and they sat and ate and drank shots and talked.

"There's nothing worse than job interviews," Kat claimed, sometime after the fourth shot. "Nothing legal, anyway."

"Maybe they should be illegal," Tess said gloomily. "It's so..."

"Humiliating?" Kat suggested. "I remember back when I was still working in sales having this interview with six other people, and the interviewer made us have this balloon debate. You know how that works, right ?You all imagine you're in a hot air balloon that's falling into the sea, and the only way to survive is to throw some people overboard until there's only one left. Designed to prove that you're more of a ruthless, charismatic bastard than anyone else. You should try it, Blondie, you'd be great."

"Thanks," Rusty said dryly. "Just for that, I'm taking the last of the Ben and Jerry's."

"Not a chance!" Tess laughed, grabbing it off the table and hugging it towards her possessively. "Ice cream is a girl's best friend."

He grabbed a spoon a dived towards her, and the ensuing scuffle lasted less than three seconds, before she rolled her eyes and held the tub out towards him.

Kat was watching them with a smile that made Rusty wince. "What were you saying?" he asked politely.

"Oh, yeah," she remembered. "The balloon debate. Wouldn't have been so bad if the interviewer hadn't been sitting there with this _look _on his face. We were killing each other to get this job - literally. Sort of. - and he was loving every second of it. Just this petty power play."

"Like advertising a job you know is already filled," Tess sighed. "I hate job hunting."

"Yeah," Kat nodded.

"Yeah," Rusty echoed sympathetically.

They both turned on him, amused. "What do you know about it, Blondie?" Kat demanded. "Have you ever even _been _to a job interview?"

He grinned. "Occasionally, someone wants something that doesn't belong to them and occasionally they hire someone to acquire that something. And when that happens, they tend to want an interview. Or an audition."

"How do you find out about those things?" Tess wondered. "I mean, they're not going to put an advert in the 'Help Wanted' section, are they?"

"Oh, there's a trade maagazine for thieves," he said airily.

For a moment there was a stupefied silence. "There is _not_," Tess said at last, throwing a cushion at him exasperatedly.

"But maybe there's a market for one?" Kat mused.

"I remember this one guy," Rusty said. "He collected ceramics and was looking for a new piece that had just been discovered. But it was...like you said, Kat. Petty power plays. He sat behind his desk in this massive oak-lined study, and said that he'd give..." He hesitated, stumbling over the fact that he hadn't been alone. "He'd give _me _the job only if I could steal his wallet without him noticing. Then he poured some drinks and spent a long time talking about how important he was, and how rich."

"So what happened?" Kat asked after a second of silence.

Rusty shrugged. "Thanked him for the booze, told him I wouldn't play his games, and left," he said.

"And his wallet?" Tess asked keenly.

Rusty grinned. "In my pocket," he admitted. "Along with his watch, his keys, his belt and his signet ring." Actually, some of that had been in _Danny's _pocket. "I cleared out the cash and left the rest for him in his mailbox."

Tess smacked her fist into her hand exuberantly. "_That's _what I should have done," she declared.

"I doubt it would have been quite the same," Kat said lazily.

Rusty put an arm over Tess' shoulders lightly. "You'll find something, I know you will."

"Something great," Kat nodded seriously. "Something you can really shine in."

"Exactly," he smiled. "And in the meantime, you have us cheering you on."

"Thank you," Tess said, sounding just a little bit tearful as she snuggled closer to him.

"And right now, we have more tequila!" Kat announced triumphantly, producing another bottle.

Kat took Tess out on the town that weekend. Something about a bachelorette party for someone in the class. Tess had seemed enthusiastic about it anyway.

"How do I look?" she asked apprehensively, standing on the stairs and smoothing her dress down. It was deep shimmery green. Long enough and covering enough that he was confident she'd be comfortable, but still sexy as all hell. (_He tried his best to pretend he hadn't just thought that_.)

"Beautiful," he told her sincerely. "You look beautiful."

She smiled in sudden pleasure, a light blush on her cheeks. "Thank you." She hesitated. "You'll pick me up at midnight?"

"In a pumpkin carriage," he promised.

Her nose wrinkled. "Didn't that turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?"

"Huh." He thought for a minute. "How did she get home then?"

"I suppose she - " Tess began.

" - in only one shoe?" he finished, shaking his head. "That's - "

" - exactly," Tess nodded. "I'll try to keep both of mine."

"Good, good," he said cheerfully. He pulled a cellphone out of his pocket and threw it over. "Here," he said. "Just in case you want to call and get picked up earlier. Or later. Or, you know, somewhere else entirely."

She scowled. "You know I hate cellphones."

"I know," he agreed. "But every now and then it's convenient. It's a spare...got it for a job and then didn't need it. You can throw it away tomorrow if you really like. Just keep hold of it tonight."

"Of course I will," she promised. There was a knock at the door. "That'll be Kat," she said. "I'll see you later, Rusty."

"Have a good time," he called after her.

Suddenly he wasn't so sure what he was going to do with his evening. The house was a lot colder with her gone.

In the end he wound up dozing on the sofa while 'My Best Friend's Wedding' played on the TV in the background.

Tess didn't call, and he headed into town and the bar for midnight. Wasn't exactly difficult to find the party - he just followed the noise and the balloons. He wouldn't have thought this would be Tess' sort of thing, but she was sitting at the table, right in the middle of the conversation, laughing and looking happy.

He smiled involuntarily and a moment later a woman wearing a mini top hat grabbed his shirt. "Are you the stripper?" she demanded.

He blinked. "Not today," he told her.

"Lana, we already agreed there wasn't going to be a stripper," another woman said patiently, turning round to face Rusty. She stared for a long second, looking him up and down. "Although if there was..."

With the ease of practice, he ignored it. "I'm just here to collect Tess," he explained.

"Right." She nodded and turned round and yelled across the table. "Tess! Your eye candy's here."

She looked up at him with a happy smile that quickly dissolved into confusion. "It can't be twelve already?"

"It is," he confirmed, amused. "You want me to come back later?"

"I don't know..." she hesitated. "I didn't want to stay out too late."

A clamour of voices burst out, all obviously eager to have her stay longer, or possibly to have Rusty take his clothes off.

"We were talking about going back to mine," the bride-to-be said hopefully. "Making a night of it. I've got plenty of room and everyone said they don't have work in the morning."

"I know, Julie but..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, Rusty."

He smiled. "It's fine," he assured her. "Why don't I go get a drink while you decide?"

"Alright," she nodded.

The bar was packed and he had to squeeze his way to the front, trapped between a drunk woman in a feather boa and a solid slab of muscle in an expensive suit. Even then it looked like it could take a while for him to catch the bartender's eye. Ah, well. Wasn't like he was in a hurry. In fact, glancing over his shoulder to where Tess was talking animatedly, obviously right in the middle of some story, he figured he could probably take as long as he wanted. He had a feeling he knew what the answer was going to be.

The muscular guy stepped backwards suddenly, his arm knocking against his glass sending it teetering towards the edge of the bar.

Automatically Rusty caught it.

"Nice reflexes," the guy said, smiling at him appreciatively.

"Thanks," he said, handing the glass back. As he did so their fingers brushed and the guy held on a second or so longer than he really had to.

There was a whole other kind of appreciation in his eyes. "Jake Hatcher," he said.

"Rusty Ryan," he introduced himself.

"So, Rusty," Jake began, his teeth gleaming. "Can I buy you a drink?"

He hesitated for a second, considering, but Jake was very handsome and parts of Rusty's anatomy were busy reminding him that it had been a while. "I'm driving," he temporised. "But you can buy me a coke, if you can catch the guy's eye."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Jake said, grinning. "I own the place."

"Huh. Suppose I shouldn't ask what a nice guy like you is doing in a place like this, then," he said, as Jake signalled the barman.

Jake laughed. "Making money," he told him. "How about you?"

"Came here to pick up a friend of mine," he said, nodding over towards the table. He noticed Tess was glancing his way, and gave her a smile. "But I don't think she's ready to leave just yet."

"Ah, bachelorette party," Jake nodded. "A force to be reckoned with." His tone changed suddenly. "So..." he said, his voice low, his hand resting lightly on Rusty's forearm. "As long as your friend is having fun, is there any chance you don't have any plans for the evening?"

The touch on his bare flesh sent a tingle through him. "Suppose I don't," he said huskily. "Why, can you think of anything?"

Jake leaned in close and whispered exactly what he was thinking in Rusty's ear.

"Mmm." He drank his coke and licked his lips, leaving them glistening. "Suppose I might just be interested in some of that."

"Rusty?"

He jumped. Tess was standing close behind him, looking at him anxiously, her eyes darting between him and Jake. "I think I'm ready to go home now."

Oh. He glanced back towards the rest of the party. They all looked like they were still having fun. "Did something happen?" he asked anxiously, turning towards her quickly, unconsciously turning his back to Jake.

"No...I mean..." She swallowed hard, obviously struggling, and he hadn't seen her look this frightened in a long time. "I just want to leave, now. Please."

"Of course," he said gently. He looked over his shoulder towards Jake. "Sorry," he said with regret. "Guess we'll need to pick it up another time."

"Why don't you give me your number?" Jake suggested.

He nodded and reached into his pocket for a pen.

"No!" Tess blurted out. He turned to look at her in dawning realisation, and she blushed scarlet. "I just...can't we go? _Please?_"

He nodded silently and threw an apologetic glance towards Jake, who didn't say a word. Terrific.

He didn't say anything until they were sitting in the car. "You said you didn't mind me dating other people," he said as neutrally as he could. In spite of himself, he found he was feeling just a little touch of resentment.

She shook her head miserably. "It wasn't that."

"What then?" he asked, sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a long moment, as though she was struggling to find the right words. Instinctively he reached out and smoothed his hand through her hair, silently reassuring her that he wasn't angry, that he'd never hurt her. She sighed deeply. "Can't you just find a nice girl?" she blurted out.

His hand froze. Suddenly, he felt cold, the unexpected rejection cutting right through him. She'd never had a problem with him before...but he'd just been Danny's friend back then, he hadn't been part of her life in the same way. "Tess - "

" - no!" she interrupted, staring at him wide eyed. "Oh, Rusty, I'm sorry. That came out wrong." She reached up and took his hand, holding it tightly. "It isn't you," she tried to explain, her voice trembling. "It was...it was..."

"It was him," he said softly, suddenly understanding.

She nodded unhappily, her eyes fearful. "He was bigger than you. I know you're not helpless, Rusty, but if he hit you, if...if he tried to force you...he could hurt you and you wouldn't be able to stop him." Her voice cracked, and she was barely holding back the tears.

He leaned over, his arm around her, soothing her as best he could, and he thought of Jake, and he hadn't read anything like that there, but that wasn't the point. Wasn't really about Jake any more than it was about him. "Not all men are like that, Tess," he said seriously.

"I know," she said unconvincingly. "But he _might_be. He could hurt you, Rusty, and I couldn't bear it." She looked pleadingly up at him. "I don't want you hurt. Not ever."

The desperate concern for him was painful, and he was helpless in the face of it. "Alright," he said, not even sure exactly what he was agreeing to. "Alright." He squeezed her hand gently. "Let's go home."

He lay awake for a long time that night, thinking, and by the time he got up the next morning he'd made a decision. "We need a holiday," he told Tess as he brought her a mug of coffee.

She took it gratefully and sipped at it, her eyes closed, and it seemed to take a few minutes for his words to sink in. "A holiday?" she repeated. "Where?"

He shrugged and thought for a second. "Paris?" he suggested at last. "You seemed enthusiastic about it earlier."

"Paris." She smiled. "When were you thinking?"

He shrugged again. "How long does it take you to pack."

"What, you mean _now_?" she repeated. "Right now?"

"Yep," he agreed.

She stared at him with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. "You don't think that we should book flights...a hotel...see what we need...get _organised?_"

"I am the master of spontaneous travel arrangements," he told her seriously.

"I can believe that," she said dryly. "Okay then. But if we end up sleeping under a bridge by the Seine, I'm blaming you."

They didn't, of course. He got them upgraded to First Class on the flight out with a smile, and the hotel he found - on the Champs Elysee - was small but classy, and their adjoining rooms came with fresh flowers and French chocolate truffles.

"It's wonderful," Tess said contentedly that first night, as they both lay on his bed sipping champagne and eating the chocolate. "It reminds me..." She stopped, her face stricken.

He frowned gently. "What?"

She sighed. "It reminds me of the hotel where we spent our honeymoon."

Oh. "That was Venice though," he said guiltily, and he remembered how long Danny had pored over guidebooks and magazines until he found the perfect place.

"Yes," she said. "It was just the hotel..." She smiled. "Never mind."

They spent a day wandering around the Louvre, and another in the Musee D'Orsay, and Rusty whispered to her exactly which Van Gogh was fake before spending another half hour promising he had nothing to do with it. That had been Le Marc and long before his time. He'd just heard the story.

Other days they simply spent wandering the streets and the parks, drinking coffee outside the little cafe on the corner and watching the world go by.

It was wonderful. And when real life intruded, it jarred him.

He got a text at five o'clock in the morning from Luis telling him that Rico had come down with a bad case of three to five, medium security. And that was going to cause problems; Rico had all the best contacts for getting things smuggled into prison. Rusty used him to get cookies to Danny every month and he had no doubt if Danny didn't get the cookies he'd think something was wrong.

(_Like maybe Rusty had ran off to Paris with his wife._)

With a sigh, he settled down to calling everyone he could think of who might be in a position to help. It ended up taking hours. This wasn't going to help his cell phone bill any.

"So you can do it, Tony?" he said, relieved when he'd found someone at last. "Yeah...yeah, just the cookies. Shall we call it five hundred dollars? No problem; the money will be in your account tomorrow. See you."

"Five hundred dollars on cookies?" Tess said from the doorway, sounding amused. "Even for you, that's a bit much, isn't it?"

He froze. He hadn't heard her come in. He turned round slowly and right now, more than anything, he wanted to lie to her.

He _couldn't. _He'd promised. And that didn't work if he only kept his word when it was easy.

"The cookies are for Danny," he said softly.

Now it was her turn to freeze. She stared at him. "For Danny?" she echoed.

"Yeah," he nodded miserably. "I send him some every month."

"I thought...I thought you said you didn't have any way of getting in touch with him," she said hesitantly.

"I don't," he explained hastily. "Not really. There's no message or anything...just a box of cookies. It's just...it lets him know I'm alright. And that I haven't forgotten him and I'm still waiting for him."

"Oh," she said in a tiny voice.

He took a step towards her. "Tess - "

" - it's fine, Rusty," she said with a bright smile.

"Maybe we need to talk about this," he tried.

"I said it's fine," she repeated. "You were Danny's friend long before you were mine, I understand that."

He wasn't so sure she did. "That's not what this is about," he protested. "How I feel about Danny and how I feel about you...it's separate, that's all."

"It's fine," she said again. "Why don't we just forget it and go down to breakfast."

Unhappily, he did so.

He felt like something important was slipping away from him, and he didn't know how to stop it.


	22. The Benedict Job 10

**A/N: Reference in this chapter is to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds 'Red Right Hand'. Better known as the song from Scream. Which is probably where Rusty knows it. Good song though.**

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><p>He hadn't slept. There'd never really been much chance of it, but he'd been sitting with Danny, going over every option, chasing down every possibility, no matter how slim. Truth was, if Tess didn't want to leave, there wasn't much chance of getting her out. Not without resorting to kidnapping, anyway, and yes, maybe that was still on the table. But the upshot was, they were nowhere. Who'd have thought that robbing three Vegas casinos would be the easy part?<p>

As far as Tess was concerned, she wasn't in trouble. She was afraid of being alone again, he knew that, and she was willing to settle. Darkly, he wondered what the attraction was. Not money, of course. Maybe she wanted a relationship without any passion at all.

He could see it from her point of view - hell, right now, far as she was concerned Terry was probably safer company than _him _- but he wanted more than this for her. The thought of Terry controlling her, ordering her around...it made him feel sick inside. Sick and furious, and he could see the exact same helpless emotion in Danny's eyes.

Maybe Terry didn't hurt her, but that didn't make their relationship healthy.

But he'd tried explaining it to her, and that hadn't gone well. Terry didn't hit her and that was good enough for her to declare him a good man. And Danny didn't understand that, and Rusty couldn't explain, not without betraying Tess' trust, and he was left avoiding Danny's questions, leaving Danny struggling to draw his own conclusions, letting Danny hurt.

Yesterday Danny had declared that he still trusted Rusty. Today there was doubt and suspicion in his eyes.

And in the meantime, whatever else was happening, their preparations for the job continued. They might have other priorities, but just calling it off without having another plan in place...apart from missing opportunities, they'd have to explain themselves to the others. And neither of them were anxious for that.

Danny had headed out to check in with Bruiser early this morning. It was one of his rare days off, and Danny had wanted to make sure he caught him before he took the kids hiking or carjacking or whatever.

They'd had breakfast together, before he left, and Danny had barely said two words to him. Rusty hadn't know how to break the silence. Wasn't like he didn't understand how Danny was feeling. Wasn't like he hadn't expected it.

Danny had blamed him. Asked how he'd let this happen. He didn't have any good answers.

Now and then he caught Danny staring at the bruises on his face.

Tess had hit him last night. And then Danny had grabbed him. He grinned to himself humourlessly, ignoring the wave of exhaustion that washed over him. Now all he needed to do was piss off Saul and he'd have the set.

He didn't even know how to go about making it better. He doubted Tess could ever forgive him, and he couldn't even _tell _Danny what Danny wouldn't forgive him for. With a sigh, he acknowledged that he might not ever be able to get either of them back.

And right now Tess was with Benedict and he found himself remembering how she'd been two years ago when she'd first called him. Lost, frightened, hopeless. Beaten down. And no matter how often he told himself that Terry wouldn't physically _hurt _her, he still knew he'd seen that same look in her eyes last night. It was an accusation; this was his fault.

They had another day of construction ahead of them, but first of all he'd had Frank, Linus, Livingston and Basher drop by his room, checking in with more info. The way things were going he probably knew more about what was happening in the casinos than Terry did.

Of course, they'd all noticed the bruises. Basher had been the first to ask about them, and in return he'd grinned sharply. "Lost an argument with a door," he said, and it didn't matter that no one was going to believe the lie, the point was the bright tone of_ fuck-off-and-don't-ask-again_.

They didn't. But Livingston looked at him with an expression of betrayal, and he remembered promising him last night that he wasn't in trouble. Well_. He _wasn't.

He sat and listened as Linus told him how Benedict had fired his PA first thing tomorrow, and Frank described the group of bar staff who were skimming from the till, and he couldn't see any way to use any of it, and with everything going on it was so difficult to concentrate.

The knock at the door came out of nowhere.

"Probably Yen," Livingston told him. "He said he might be coming by. He was getting pretty bored."

Yeah. Well, there wasn't really much for him to do until the vault was built. With a nod, he stood up and pulled the door open, and Tess stumbled forwards into his arms.

Shocked, he pulled her inside and got the door shut as fast as possible, risking a quick glance up and down the corridor as he did so. Didn't look as though anyone was actively following her, for the moment.

"Rusty! Oh, Rusty, I'm sorry." Her voice was choked and miserable and she clung to him like he was her last hope.

He held her tight, smoothing the hair off her face, and he felt the cold grip of fury as he caught sight of the dried blood on her forehead.

"Oh, Tess," he murmured. "You've got nothing to be sorry for." She didn't. But Benedict had a lot to answer for.

"I didn't know where else to go," she explained, looking up at him miserably. "Terry...he..." She flinched at the look on his face. "He didn't hurt me," she begged, her hand flying to the gash on her forehead. "He _didn't_. We argued...I fell... " Her hand tightened on his shoulder, and she didn't let go until he nodded, silently promising that he believed her, that Terry was safe, for the moment anyway. "But you were right. I should let him talk to me like that. I shouldn't let him make me..." She closed her eyes, shaking. "You were right, and I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry," he reminded her softly. "I'm always here for you. You just need to say the word."

She gave a soft gasping sob and buried her face against his shoulder and he could feel her trembling in his arms.

After a moment or two, Livingston stepped up beside him, silently handing him some tissues and a cold compress. His eyes darted awkwardly between them and the door they were blocking, obviously asking the question. Quickly, Rusty shook his head. As little as he wanted an audience, the others _couldn't _leave.

"Tess?" he murmured, after another couple of minutes had passed. "Let me help you."

She raised her head, and he gently pressed the compress against her forehead, dabbing the blood away and examining the bump beneath. His lips tightened; this wasn't fresh. This had to have happened last night, and even if it had been a fall, she should have been able to get it looked at, wash away the blood at the very least.

"Have you - " he began quietly, and she shook her head.

" - no concussion," she told him. "I know the symptoms."

Yeah. He imagined she did.

She looked around the room puzzled, seemingly noticing they weren't alone for the first time. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to inte..." She stopped dead and turned to stare at him. "You're here working on a job, aren't you?"

He hesitated, not wanting to admit it, not able to deny it.

"Oh, God." She closed her eyes and stepped back, shaking her head. "I actually thought you'd come for me."

"I didn't know you were here," he said quickly. "I certainly didn't know how Terry was treating you. If I had - "

" - _if._" She swallowed hard, disappointment clouding her eyes. "I should have known better." Her voice rose and he winced, hoping no one in the corridor would hear. "You know, there was a part of me that was still hoping you'd come after me when I left. Stupid, right? I told myself so many times that after..." She stopped, swallowing thickly, shaking her head like she was trying to deny the memory. "I told myself that I never wanted to see you again, but still I found myself watching and waiting...and you never came."

"I couldn't," he said hoarsely.

"_Why?" _she demanded, hurt evident.

He remembered dark eyes and an angry smile and he shook his head helplessly. He couldn't tell her.

He was conscious that the others had shuffled over towards the far wall, pretending like they couldn't hear a word. In other circumstances it might have been funny. Now, it was excruciating.

"I _trusted _you, Rusty," she said, her voice cracked. "I trusted you like I've never trusted anyone."

"You can still trust me," he tried, in spite of everything. "I've never hurt you. I've never lied - "

" - _you murdered him." _

The words echoed around the room like they echoed around his soul.

Tess' hands were pressed against her mouth like she longed to take them back. The tears were streaming down her face.

"Yeah," he said softly, tiredly.

"I...I'm sorry," she stammered, looking from him to the others fearfully, though whether she was afraid for herself or for him, Rusty couldn't tell. "I should go."

"Tess." He reached out his hand but didn't actually touch her. "I can take you away from here. Whatever you think of me, you still deserve better than Terry." It wasn't that far removed from what he'd said in that diner two years ago. And she knew him so much better now, and that was good and bad, all at once.

"Terry's good to me," she said automatically, but she was shaking and it didn't seem like she believed what she was saying any more.

"No he's not," he told her softly. Whatever had happened between last night and this morning...whatever Benedict had _done, or made her do..._there was nothing 'good' about it.

She bit her lip. "No," she agreed in a whisper. "But I..." She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, denying him. "No. No, I have to go."

She turned and ran out of the room as quickly as she'd appeared. He took an abortive step forwards and stopped. He _couldn't _follow her. Once again, when she needed him most, he was nowhere to be found.

Damnit. His hand slammed into the door frame. He should have found a way to handle that better.

"Rus'," Livingston said quietly, troubled.

He turned and smiled at them brightly. "Sorry about that."

"Who was that?" Basher demanded.

"Benedict's girl," Linus said.

"Danny's wife," Frank said at the same time.

It was difficult to tell which of them was looking more disgusted with him.

In response he smiled brightly. "Her _name _is Tess," he reminded them softly.

"Woah, she's _Danny's _wife?" Linus asked, staring at Frank. "Our Danny?"

"Ex wife," Rusty corrected automatically, biting his tongue immediately as Frank glared at him some more, disbelieving and disapproving. Oh, hell, that wasn't gonna help.

"What the fuck's going on here?" Basher demanded, staring at him. "If she's with Benedict - "

" - I know," he cut in quietly. "Don't worry about it." Seemed even less likely that she'd tell Terry anything now. Not that it _mattered... _With a sigh, he started hunting through his case and the wardrobe, finding a duller suit and pulling it on quickly, not caring who was watching.

"Rusty," Frank said quietly into the sudden silence.

He ignored him. He knew what the next question was going to be and he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to _think _about it. Ever.

"Rusty," Basher tried, sounding...concerned and understanding.

He bit his lip savagely, and with a short lived burst of triumph, he found the wig he'd worn the other night. This should do. There was adhesive...it would make a mess of his hair, but it wouldn't slip.

"Rus'," Livingston persisted.

"_What_?" he snapped, turning round and staring at him fiercely.

Livingston quailed but didn't back down. "She said you killed someone."

His face was blank. "Murdered. Yeah."

"Who?" Basher asked.

He smiled charmingly. "Someone who needed to die."

It was the truth. No matter what else had happened, no matter what else _would _happen...no matter how many nights he woke up crying alone, he didn't regret it.

"You really killed someone? I mean, for real?" Linus stammered, his eyes huge like he couldn't quite believe it, and the others were staring too, like they were expecting him to turn round and laugh and tell them it had all been a big joke.

(_The weight in his hand...smell of gunpowder and blood...the stain spreading across the wood floor...the weight on his _soul...)

"Designed and directed by my red right hand," he said lightly, and watched the reference pass right over the kid's head. "As fun as this little chat has been, I need to get going. Give it at least half an hour after I leave before you follow, okay?" He grabbed the glasses from the dresser.

"Does Danny know?" Frank asked slowly.

He flinched slightly. Danny didn't know. Danny didn't know about any of this. "I'll see you later," he said, and maybe that was answer enough.

Livingston was staring between him and the door, like he was trying to figure something out. "Wait!" he said, sounding suddenly panicked.

Rusty smiled. "Half an hour," he reminded them, and he was out the door.

He walked down the hallway like he didn't have a care in the world, and it wasn't until he got to the elevator that he took a step back, into the alcove by the stairwell and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The Bellagio had very few blind camera spots. Rusty knew all of them.

Danny answered after six rings. Normally, Danny answered him immediately, and he found himself imagining Danny standing there, staring at the phone, wanting to take Rusty's call, but still hurting and confused.

"You need to go find Tess," Rusty began abruptly. "Right now. She's upset, she could use someone to talk to." And that should be Danny, and he could only hope that Tess felt the same way.

"What happened?" Danny demanded hoarsely.

"Something with Terry," he said briefly. "An argument - I don't know exactly what, but it was bad. She came to find me but then she realised we were here for a job and she got mad and left."

"Fuck," Danny muttered. "I need to talk to her...need to explain."

"My bet is she'll be on the roof," Rusty offered.

"The roof?" Danny asked, and Rusty could hear the frown in his voice.

"Yeah," he said simply. "She tends to head to high places when she needs to think."

There was a long, _long _moment of silence, and Rusty realised that he shouldn't tell Danny things like that, because he shouldn't be _able _to tell Danny things like that. Everything had changed and Danny had got left behind.

"Oh," Danny said eventually.

"I'm sorry," he said miserably, and he wasn't even sure what he was apologising for. Everything, maybe. "Look, I've got to go. There's no cameras on the roof, but use the south east stairwell, it's the least monitored."

"Wait, Rus', what are you - " Danny began, and he killed the call mercilessly.

He hoped Danny found Tess. Maybe he'd be able to persuade her to get out of here. In the meantime...

The elevator arrived and he headed down to the casino floor, and made his way out among the tables, always looking around like he was searching for someone, making sure to be as obvious and as subtly noticeable as he could be.

If he was a jealous, controlling boyfriend, with a mind like a steel trap, an eye for detail and practically inexhaustible resources, he'd want to know where his girlfriend was at all times, especially the day after they'd argued. And what with them being in his hotel, he could have men watching her every move through the surveillance system, ready to tell him if she slipped off to another man's hotel room. And, if that man appeared barely five minutes later and started to look for her...well, they could tell him that too.

The lights were suddenly blocked out behind him, and he turned slowly to see the two guards staring him down.

"Mr Benedict would like a word with you," one of them rumbled.

Yes. Rusty imagined he would.


	23. One Year Earlier

**A/N: Going to have three chapters set in the past now. I decided it was too long and busy for one chapter.**

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><p>They got back from Paris and Tess resumed job hunting, and Rusty was just as caring and considerate and affectionate as ever, and Tess tried her best to return the feelings.<p>

Nothing had changed, not really. She'd always known that Rusty was Danny's friend first. And someday Danny would come back, and Rusty would leave with him and never look back.

She screwed her eyes shut. That was unfair of her. She knew how much Rusty cared about her, and he'd never been anything but open and honest. He'd said time and again that he wasn't going to just up and abandon her and she knew he meant it. It was just she couldn't imagine how it would _work._She and Danny...they were divorced. Even thinking about him still hurt, and the hurt was mixed with anger and betrayal, and all the poisonous little thoughts and doubts John had left her with. She didn't want to see him again (_she didn't, not even when she remembered the way he smiled, the way he made her laugh_) so what would happen? Was Rusty planning on splitting his time between them? She almost laughed at the thought; joint custody with a difference. Selfishly, she didn't want to share him. Practically, she doubted that anything like that could ever last. Whether he intended to or not, he'd end up choosing.

Every time she stacked herself up against Danny, she came up short, even in her own head. It was Rusty who'd have to choose - the best friend who loved adventure, who lived the same life he did, who was brilliant and successful and independent, who made him laugh and answered his every thought...or else her. Damaged, dependent, not even able to get a stupid job in her own field, so frightened he might get hurt every time he went out to work that she demanded to know exactly what he was doing, too frightened to even let him exchange numbers with a guy in a bar like a normal person...suddenly, all she could find were flaws.

There could be no comparison. She remembered the way Rusty looked at Danny. She was going to lose him, and it hurt so much. Danny would say one word, and Rusty would come running. And she thought of them together and she felt like the jealousy was going to eat her alive.

There was nothing she could do to keep him.

Or was there?

There was one thing she could offer Rusty that Danny couldn't, or wouldn't.

Still, she hesitated. She shouldn't be even _trying _to win this fight unless she could be sure she could make Rusty happy. But he_ was _happy, wasn't he? He'd certainly seemed so this past year. He said he liked spending time with her, he said he was happy living together...she thought of the way he smiled at her when she came home. No one could fake that, not even Rusty.

They were happy together. Was there really anything wrong with making sure that continued, taking it one step further, even?

She started in small ways, taking just a bit more care to always have lipstick on, making sure she wore clothes that were just a bit more dressy around the house. She felt ridiculous every step of the way. Really, she had no idea whether he'd even noticed.

This wasn't something she was used to. Before, John, Danny...they'd always approached _her._She'd never really needed to work to attract men's attention, whether she wanted it or not.

Self-consciously, she stared in the mirror, wondering if it was her. She supposed she was physically appealing, maybe even beautiful. And Rusty liked women, she knew. So from a purely physical point of view, there shouldn't be a problem. She just didn't know how to get started.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked Kat one morning over coffee. "If there was a man you liked, and you were already friends with him, but you weren't sure he thought of you that way, how would you flirt with him?"

Kat's smile was broad and delighted. "Well, well. You finally ready to jump back in the dating game?"

"Maybe," she said, concentrating on stirring her coffee. Not exactly.

"I suppose I'd start with the basics," Kat said thoughtfully. "Lots of eye contact, smile like you're always pleased to see him, casual touching if you think you can manage it."

"I already do all that," she said unthinkingly.

"Oh." The smile vanished from Kat's face. "You're talking about Rusty."

"Do you think it's a bad idea?" she asked, a little hurt.

"No-o," Kat said slowly. "Not exactly. I can see the appeal. He's your best friend, he's safe and he'd do anything for you. Plus he looks like sex on two legs," she added offhandedly, and Tess choked. "Has to help. But Tess - suppose you realise you're not ready after all? What you have is special. It's a big risk to take."

"I hadn't thought of it quite that way," she said, frowning.

Kat gazed at her earnestly. "I just want you happy. Both of you."

She returned the gaze steadily. "That's what I want too," she said honestly.

She really hadn't thought of it quite like that. She'd been so caught up in thinking about what she was trying to hold onto, she hadn't given much thought to what it would mean. Was she really ready? The thought of sex no longer filled her with that sickening terror, but she still wasn't sure if she _wanted _to...

Shivering slightly, she forced herself to imagine it. Imagining Rusty touching and kissing her, and that wasn't so bad, was it? She knew he would never hurt her, and she couldn't imagine he'd ever hold her down, couldn't imagine he'd get...insistent. No, he'd be gentle and loving and considerate, and he would make sure she enjoyed every minute of it, just like...

(_Dark eyes focused on her absolutely, like he was trying to make this moment last forever, urgent kisses, heat and movement, his arms wrapped around her, holding her up as the impossible pleasure raced through her body, building to dizzying heights._)

No! She shook her head determinedly. No. That was all in the past. The point was, she could do this. Rusty would be good to her, and she could please him. She could make him happy.

She loved him. Why wouldn't that be enough?

When he came home, she was waiting for him, dressed in a black dress that was long enough that she felt comfortable and short enough that she felt...sexy. She could only hope she looked it too.

There was music playing, and feeling giddy and nervous and daring, she took his hand and pulled him into an exuberant dance around the kitchen.

His mouth twitched with affectionate amusement. "What's the occasion?" he asked, twirling her obligingly.

"I don't need a reason," she said, neatly removing the ID badge that told her that Garret Wright worked for the power company, and dropping it down onto the counter. "I just felt like celebrating."

"Celebrating?" He looked at her thoughtfully and smiled. "Celebrating without a reason. I can get behind that."

(_She'd danced with him like this at her wedding. He'd smiled then too, and Danny had been watching, smiling at them both like this was the happiest day of his life. That had been a lie. It _had _been._)

She'd cooked steaks for dinner, and for a moment she'd found herself thinking about the day she'd left John. She'd been cooking steak then too, waiting for him to come home, desperate to please and ready to do whatever he wanted...

This was different. That had been about fear. This time, she was acting out of love. _(___But ___she was afraid of being alone.) _

They ate dinner by candlelight. She sat next to him and smiled and talked and laughed. He made her feel warm inside. This couldn't be wrong. It _couldn't._

Casually she rested a hand on his knee, and when he didn't object, she slid it upwards, just a little.

He stopped talking, his eyes flickering between her and the candles. "Tess..."

"This isn't about gratitude," she said rapidly, before he got the wrong idea. "This is just...I want you to be happy. I want both of us to be happy, and I don't want to be alone." She stopped, swallowing hard, and she reached out and took his hand"I love you," she said, because maybe that was what mattered most. "You make me feel safe, and you make me feel whole, and I love you, Rusty."

He stared at her for a long moment and his hand was trembling slightly as he reached up and pressed his hand against her face. "I love you too," he said.

She leaned forwards and kissed him urgently, her arms around his neck, her mouth pressed desperately to his. He tasted of warmth and strength and comfort. She could do this. It was Rusty, and she could do this. He was kissing her back and it felt..._she _felt...loved.

He broke off after what could have been a few seconds or a few hours. "No," he said, his voice unsteady and uncertain. As she moved back, he grabbed her hand, like he was afraid she might leave completely. He closed his eyes for a long second. "No," he said again, stronger this time. "We shouldn't do this."

Oh, God. She felt like a fool.

Immediately he lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing it reassuringly. "No, not like that," he said immediately. "But I make you feel safe and you don't want to be alone...Tess, those aren't reasons for starting a relationship. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you find me attractive?"

"You're beautiful," she said instead, and she _should _want him. If she didn't, that was a problem with her, not him.

"That's not the same thing," he said gently. "And it matters."

"But don't other things matter more?" she asked in a small voice. "You said you loved me."

"I do," he said at once. "I really do. But there are all kinds of love, Tess. This is the kind that comes without sex."

Instantly she felt a surge of relief, and she wasn't quick enough to hide it from him if she wanted to.

His mouth quirked into a grin. "Yeah," he said, in response to her look. "Exactly."

"I just thought..." she tried to explain. "Love and companionship. It wouldn't be a bad life."

"It wouldn't," he agreed immediately, looking upset. "But isn't that what we already had?"

"And what happens when Danny comes back?" she asked, and another thought occurred, hitting her hard. "Is that...is that why you turned me down?" She hadn't actually thought before, but now she wondered if he'd have slept with Danny's wife, even if he wanted to.

For a long moment he didn't say anything. "I don't know," he said finally, his voice cracked, and just for once, she almost wished he'd lied. "And I don't know what will happen. But I'm _not _going to lose you, Tess. Not as long as I can help it, I swear."

"But Danny's your best friend," she pointed out unwillingly. "And I'm just..." She didn't compare.

He grabbed her hand again. "You're my best friend too," he told her firmly, and with a complete lack of logic. "I told you; I love you. You really think I say that lightly?"

In spite of herself, her lips twitched. "I don't think you can have more than one_ best_friend," she murmured.

He shrugged. "Like I care about the rules." He grew serious again. "We'll find a way to make this work, Tess. I swear it."

She believed him, really, she did. And it wasn't as if anything changed between them. If she'd thought, she would have expected things to get awkward, but somehow, the next time she took his hand as they were walking down the street, she didn't even consider that it should have been strange until the moment was long past.

They loved. That didn't stop.

But somehow, she was left with...something. A feeling of dissatisfaction, or maybe insecurity. Maybe this wasn't forever, or maybe she was just too dependent on Rusty. At any rate, she felt like she had to start building more of a life apart from him, because if Danny came back she wanted to feel like she didn't need him, and she redoubled her efforts to find a job, even starting to apply for things she was completely overqualified for.

And she got a few responses, and some of them wanted references, and reluctantly she found herself calling the gallery in Philadelphia, hoping she could beg them to overlook the last few months of her employment.

Angelica said she'd pass the message on, but she was coldly discouraging, and Tess felt herself wither in the face of the hidden glee she could hear, like Angelica was glad she'd come crawling back.

"Oh yes," Angelica said just before she hung up. "A man came by looking for you. We told him we didn't have any contact details."

She froze. "A man?" she said, and she already knew the answer but she still had to _ask. _"D-did he leave a name?"

"Let me see," Angelica said uninterestedly. "I wrote it down. He insisted. Ah, yes. John Ross."

Her mouth was suddenly impossibly dry. "This must have been months ago, right? Last year."

"Of course not," Angelica said scornfully. "You remember how busy we are, do you really think we'd have kept it all this time? No, this was just last week. Unfortunately we didn't have any way of getting in touch with you."

Thank God. "Well, that's fine," she babbled. "It's been very nice talking to you again, Angelica, if I'm ever back in town we should get caught up - "

" - he left his number," Angelica interrupted implacably. "Let me give it to you."

She did. And Tess wrote it down without even knowing why.

"Thank you," she said numbly, staring down at the seven digits like they were the road to hell.

"Oh, there was something else," Angelica added. "Even when we said we couldn't get in touch with you, he said we should tell you he was sorry." She unbent just a little and laughed, a knowing little giggle. "He was very good looking you know. And whatever he did, he seemed very upset about it. I think you should forgive him."

Forgive him. She felt the tears threatening to fall. "Thank you, Angelica," she said hoarsely. "You've been very helpful."

She hung up, and sat huddled in the chair, staring vacantly into space.

He was looking for her. John was looking for her. After all this time...she felt sick. Why now? Surely he hadn't still been searching all this time. No, something must have changed.

Angelica had said John was sorry. Maybe...maybe he really was. She pressed her hand against her mouth hard, so she could barely breathe.

(_Maybe John was really sorry._)

Rusty had said sorry only counted if he wasn't going to do it again.

(_Maybe John had really changed._)

She shook her head unconsciously, trying to concentrate. Rusty. She shouldn't tell him about this. If he knew John was looking for her, he'd worry. Even now, she knew, he could barely think about John without wanting to punch a wall. There was no need to tell him anyway. It wasn't like she was going to call him. She didn't _need t_o call him. There was no way John could find her, and why would she want to talk to him? Even if he was sorry... Even if he had changed.

This didn't mean anything. She wasn't going back to John. She wasn't even going to _think _about John. It was over.

Without knowing why, she folded up the paper with the phone number and placed it carefully in her purse.


	24. One Year Earlier 2

_The sun was glinting over the water, making it sparkle and shimmer. With a smile, she trailed her hand over the side of the boat, and the water was cool and fresh, providing a wonderful contrast to the hot summer's day. _

__She sighed happily. "This was a wonderful idea," she told John.__

__His eyes crinkled up in the corners as he smiled at her, like just the sight of her was making him happy, like he'd never been angry in his life. "I'm glad you like it," he said, laying the oars down carefully. "It's been ages since I've been boating." __

_"I've never been," she said regretfully, and now she couldn't imagine why. It was so peaceful out in the middle of the lake. They might as well be the only two people left in the world. She'd be happy if they were. _

_"Really?" He looked at her teasingly. "Every man should take his woman boating. It's one of the few times left in the world where a man can take care of her and do all the work and not be called sexist." _

_She laughed. "I wouldn't mind learning how to row." _

_"I don't think so," he said. "It's too much work for a pretty little thing like you. Instead..." He reached behind him, into his duffel bag and produced a bottle of champagne and a picnic bag. "Let's have some lunch. I picked up some strawberries from the farmer's market downtown - I remember how much you liked them last time." _

_"Oh, _John,_" she said, delight in her voice at the thought, at the care and attention. _

_"You are so beautiful," he said intently, as he poured her a glass, staring at her like she was the only woman in the world. "I love you so much." _

_"I love you too," she said softly, and she _did, _no matter what._

_"Promise you'll never leave me," he said as he moved next to her, his arms around her, and she leaned in eagerly for the kiss, and she was so happy and so loved._

_"I promise," she whispered. "I promise." _

She woke up with a start, her heart beating fast, her mouth dry, the feelings of joy and delight still swirling through her head.

Oh, God. She'd been having those dreams more and more, ever since she'd got John's number. The good times. Before everything went wrong. She'd almost forgotten that there ever _had _been any good times.

The dreams left her confused and uncertain. It wasn't like she wanted to go back to John or anything – the very idea filled her with helpless dread. It was just...suddenly there were questions she couldn't answer. She wanted to know why John had been trying to find her, after all this time. She wanted to know if he really was sorry. That was all. She scrubbed her hand harshly over her face, and she wished she'd never called Angelica. This relationship wasn't just supposed to be over, it was supposed to be dead and buried, and now here it was, still haunting her.

John couldn't actually be sorry, right? People like that don't change. Except...except he hadn't always been like that, had he? Was it so difficult to believe that the man who'd taken her boating on a hot day, the man who'd bought her strawberries and kissed her like she was the only woman in the world...was it so difficult to believe that he might be sorry?

He'd already hit her at that point, she reminded herself fiercely. Just a couple of days before the memory she'd dreamed, she'd been lying on the floor, staring up at him with a shocked expression, the whisky bottle lying smashed around her, her eye already swelling up. He'd hit her and he'd said he was sorry then, and sorry only counts if you don't do it again.

But...but he had been drunk. (_And she had clumsily dropped the bottle._) Maybe he'd quit drinking. Maybe that's why he was sorry. Maybe he was sober and everything was better now.

Did it really matter? On his very best of days, John had never made her as happy as Rusty did.

She thought of Rusty sending cookies to Danny and her mouth tightened.

She just wanted to know. That was all. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing _dangerous._

Giving in to the impulse, she got out of bed and dressed quickly and quietly, before creeping downstairs and sneaking out of the front door. If she was going to do this, if she was really, truly, seriously thinking about doing this, she certainly wasn't going to risk phoning from their own phone. There was a payphone a little way down the street.

Though she'd called Rusty from a payphone a year ago, and he'd managed to find her...

John wasn't Rusty, though. He wasn't a criminal and he didn't have the know-how, or the brilliance to track her down like that. And she'd make sure the number was withheld. This wasn't a stupid risk.

She lifted the receiver and hesitated. It was the middle of the night. John always got angry when he was woken up suddenly.

Well, _good. _If he started out shouting and swearing at her, she'd know he hadn't really changed, and she could go home to bed and forget the whole thing.

Her hand was shaking as she dialled. She could taste the adrenaline. He was two thousand miles away. He couldn't hurt her unless she let him.

This was stupid. This was stupid. This was...

"Yeah?" The voice was hoarse and so, so familiar.

She froze, unable to make a sound. He didn't _sound _angry.

"Hello?" he said, sounding a little more awake. "Who's there?"

"John?" she managed to choke out and she tried to say more, but she _couldn't._

"Tess?" he asked urgently. "Tess, is that you?"

With an effort, she managed to compose herself. "Yes. I'm sorry - "

" - you don't have anything to be sorry for," he interrupted firmly. "God, _I'm _sorry. I'm so sorry. You have no idea how long I've been looking for you. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I...when I think about what I did to you, I..." For a moment she really thought he was going to start crying. "I swear, it wasn't me. It was the alcohol. It made me a monster, but I'm better now, honestly, Tess."

"That's...that's good," she managed to say.

"After you left...after what you said, I took a long hard look at myself," he went on. "I cut back on the booze...I even went to anger management classes. I've turned my life around. I'm a new man. A _better _man."

His words were dripping with sincerity. "That's good," she said again numbly, and she didn't know what she _should _be saying, didn't know what he wanted to hear.

"I know I don't deserve it," he said slowly. "But I wanted to ask for your forgiveness."

She felt like she was standing on the edge of an impossibly high cliff. Forgiveness? Forgive...him. Like all the nights she'd spent afraid and in pain, all the times he'd hit her and hurt her and raped her...like all that would just be swept away.

The silence stretched on.

"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. "It's too much to ask, I know. Tell me at least. Does your new man treat you well?"

She hesitated for a second, because her and Rusty _weren't..._not like he understood it, anyway. "Yes," she said eventually. "Yes. I'm happy."

"Good," he said, his voice cracked. "That's good. I'm pleased for you. I wish the best for you both. Maybe...maybe you'll come over and see me some time though, huh Tess? Just for old time's sake. It used to be good, remember? We used to be good together."

She did remember. "I'm not in Philadelphia anymore," she told him.

"Oh," he said, clearly disappointed. "Well, if you're ever in town, give me a call. Please. I'd like to...I'd like to apologise in person. I want to make you see how much I regret everything."

"Sure," she said, swallowing hard. "If I'm ever in town. I should go now. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Tess," he said thickly.

She hung up the phone quickly and stood in the booth for a long moment, just staring at the handset.

He'd sounded so miserable. So alone. It made her remember how much she cared for him, and it made her heart ache. And he'd said he was sorry, and he wasn't going to get a chance to do it again. And he wanted her forgiveness.

Shouldn't she give it? Shouldn't she find a way to forgive him, to let go of the anger and the hate and to move on? Maybe she needed it as much as he did.

(_If she could forgive John, then when Danny came back maybe...maybe..._)

She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what she wanted. But she was cold and she was miserable and she was confused, and she hurried home and without even thinking about it, crept upstairs and into bed with Rusty.

He opened his eyes and regarded her sleepily. "You okay?" he asked, as he obligingly shuffled over, and put an arm over her.

She shook her head as she snuggled up close to him.

"Nightmare?" he guessed gently.

"Just a dream," she said, biting her lip.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead silently.

She lay awake for a long time. That was it. It was over. She'd got the answers she was looking for, even if they weren't the answers she was expecting. Now she should stay away. Stop thinking about John and just get on with her life. It was that simple.

* * *

><p>It wasn't that simple. Nothing was ever that simple. Again and again, she found herself sneaking out of the house to the payphone while Rusty was asleep or out working and calling John. At this stage she didn't even know<em> why<em>. She didn't know what she was looking for or what she expected to find. Closure? Did she want the relationship she'd had back? Did she want to know why he'd hit her? (_Did she want to punish Rusty for loving Danny?_)

She just didn't know. But she called and he answered and they talked about their days and about TV and the weather and it was all...chatter. First date conversation. It wasn't _real _and it drove her crazy. She wanted more than this, she just wasn't sure what it was.

And as long as it continued she felt so, so guilty. She could easily imagine the look on Rusty's face if he knew she was calling John, and she remembered the rage in his eyes when she'd called him before, when he'd called her all those names, threatened her, terrified her.

That was what she had to bear in mind. That was how John had been before, and she didn't really know that he wouldn't revert back at a moment's notice. She had to see past all the little comments and compliments that put her off balance, and stay on her guard.

But she'd loved him once, or thought she had. She wanted to know. She wanted to know if it had ever been real, she wanted to know if he was truly sorry, she wanted to know if he _had_ changed. And no matter how she talked to him on the phone, she just couldn't tell. If only she could see him face to face, just once.

Kat was away on vacation, unfortunately. She didn't know if she would have told Kat about John...really, she knew what Kat would say just as surely as she knew what Rusty would say...but it was nice to think that maybe she might have taken the option.

Rusty and Kat would both tell her that what she was doing was stupid and dangerous, and yet she couldn't bring herself to stop. Even knowing how worried they'd both be, she hugged the guilt and stupidity close to herself, and they were hers to bear.

It was about a month after the phone calls started that she got the letter, from a headhunting agency who'd been nothing but curtly dismissive when she'd first applied. "I've got another job interview!" she told Rusty excitedly.

He paused in the act of smearing peanut butter on his toast and smiled at her. "That's fantastic! Where? And for what?"

She scanned the rest of the letter quickly then looked up slowly. "Philadelphia," she said blankly.

It was fate. It had to be.

The smile slid instantly from Rusty's face. "Philadelphia," he said slowly. "You didn't mention you were looking there."

"I wasn't," she hastened to explain. "This is through an agency. You said I should be looking anywhere in the world though."

"I did, didn't I?" he said with a tight smile. "I just don't think everywhere included _there._"

"If you don't think I should go..." she suggested, and there was a part of her that was hoping he'd put his foot down. For her own good, of course.

For a second she thought he just might. She could see him struggling, could see the deep unhappiness in his eyes. "Philadelphia's a big place," he said at last. "And it's your decision. Does the job sound good?"

"Yes." It did, actually. "But I probably won't get it anyway," she added gloomily. She hadn't got anything else, after all.

"Hey." He took her hand lightly. "Don't think like that, Tess. When is the interview anyway?"

She checked. "Friday."

"Friday." He nodded. "I'll book us flights and a hotel."

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his fingers. She couldn't imagine what she'd do without his support.

* * *

><p>For the rest of that week she managed to avoid calling John. She didn't want to risk letting him know she was going to be in town before she was absolutely certain she wanted to see him.<p>

She went over and over it in her head. Maybe this was the opportunity she was looking for. She imagined standing in front of John and asking why, asking what she'd done or what he _thought _she'd done - asking and getting an answer. But it was more likely she'd ask and he'd just stand there, making excuses.

Of course, the worst scenario was he'd hurt her again. She had to consider it, but surely that wouldn't happen. He talked like he'd changed, and even if he hadn't _she _had. She was stronger now. More confident. She wouldn't let him push her around anymore. She wouldn't let herself get sucked back into that life.

Still. She knew, really, that it wasn't the smart thing to do. Even more when she could tell how nervous Rusty was. Even before they got to the airport, he'd handed her a cellphone. "Just...carry it while we're there," he begged her, his eyes serious. "I'm on speed dial one. If you even think you see him, I want to know."

"I'll be fine, Rusty," she said reassuringly.

He smiled tightly. "Humour me, Tess. Please."

"Of course," she promised, feeling the dart of guilt. But still, she felt herself drawn to go through with it - seeing John was all she could think about the plane, and even while she was waiting for her interview. Consequently she was astonished when she left feeling like she'd done very well indeed.

Another sign. This was fate.

She called Rusty. He'd gone to wander round town while she was occupied.

"How did it go?" he asked immediately.

"Good," she smiled. "Really, really good."

"That's great," he said. "Do you want to meet up and go grab a bite to eat so you can tell me all about it?"

"Actually," she said, as nonchalantly as she could. "A couple of the people here asked me out to dinner. I was thinking I'd take them up on it, if you don't mind?"

"Of course not," he said fondly. "If they're inviting you places you must have really made an impression. Just be careful. Keep the phone close."

"I will," she promised, biting her lip. "Rusty..."

"What?" he asked quickly, and she knew he knew something was up.

"Nothing," she said at once. "It's nothing. I'll talk to you when I get back tonight, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, his voice shot through with puzzlement and concern. "See you tonight."

She stared down at the phone for a long time after she'd hung up. She'd lied to him. She'd never lied to him like that before. The guilt ate away at her, and she wanted to call him right back and tell him how sorry she was.

But she had to do this. She needed answers. After tonight, after she'd seen John, she'd go back to Rusty and she'd tell him everything and never lie to him again.

This ended tonight.

She stood on the sidewalk for a long time, staring at the house. It hadn't changed. Not that she supposed there was any reason why it _should _have...it just felt like such a long time since she'd been here - another life in fact - and she would have expected there to be some difference.

She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around herself. It was cold. That was all. It wasn't too late to change her mind, she considered, chewing on her lip. She could just walk away right now, go back to the hotel and go home with Rusty. There was no reason she _had _to do this.

Except every step of the way, she'd hidden from him. She was scared of him still, even though they'd been talking, even though he seemed to have changed. She wanted to look him in the eyes and know there was nothing to be afraid of.

Determined, she marched up to the door and rang the bell before she had a chance to change her mind. Immediately, she regretted it. OhGodohGodohGod...maybe he wouldn't be in. Hopefully he wouldn't be in.

Her legs were shaking. She saw a shadow approaching the door, and she wanted to run, she wanted to...

"Tess," John said as he opened the door, stunned. "God. It's really you."

She nodded, speechless, and for a moment he just stood, staring at her. Then he took a quick step forwards and she flinched as he threw his arms around her, her arms hanging stiffly at her side as she suffered the embrace.

"I've missed you," he said thickly. "Oh, Tess, I've missed you so much. I never really thought you'd come back to me. Come in, please."

"I'm not back," she said urgently, hanging back in the doorway. "I'm only here this evening...I was in town for a job interview. I can't stay long. I just needed to see you."

"You needed to see me," he repeated. "That's good to hear."

She bit her lip. Somehow, she thought he was reading significance that just wasn't there. It frightened her.

"You don't need to be afraid," he said, like he was reading her mind. "I told you; I've changed. I really have." He looked at her beseechingly. "_Please _come in. Even just for a little while. We can't talk on the doorstep."

That was true, at least. Surreptitiously her hand dropped down to her purse and she traced the outline of the cell phone. It was right there. All she had to do was call and Rusty would come running. Reassured, she stepped inside.

The first thing she thought was that the hallway was desperately in need of a good hoover. John had never been much of a housekeeper. All that had quickly fallen to her. Once, during an...argument...he'd told her real men don't vaccuum.

(_For some reason she thought of Danny. He wasn't much of a housekeeper either, but when they'd started living together, she'd just assumed she would take care of the house, just like she always had for Dad. That had upset him, __she remembered, and now she understood why. They took care of things together. Shared the chores equally, though later, after a few unidentifiable meals and a minor fire, she'd begged him not to take a turn cooking. He took over all the vaccuuming instead and she remembered walking in to find him standing on the sofa in the living room, to vaccuum behind it without standing on what he'd already done. There'd been a jay cloth on his head for some reason, and a feather duster and a can of polish stuck through his belt, and he'd turned and grinned at her, ridiculously unembarrassed, and declared himself a vaccuum ninja. She'd laughed until the tears came to her eyes. _

_Real men don't feel threatened by housework.)_

He caught her looking. "I haven't exactly been keeping on top of things," he said defensively. "After you left, I fell apart. I was drinking too much...I barely managed to get into work, let alone keep the house tidy."

"Of course," she nodded quickly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." She bit her lip hard, cutting off the apologetic and the appeasing. Apparently it had taken her less than thirty seconds to fall straight back into old habits.

Fortunately John didn't seem to have noticed. "Come in and sit down, please," he said, and she followed him through to the living room and perched on the edge of the chair. There was an empty bottle of whisky on the table and a half-full glass.

She tensed on seeing it. That was...that wasn't good. John didn't _seem _drunk, but then he often didn't until it was far too late. She should leave. She should get out of here, this was a mistake. But she didn't want to risk offending him. Uncertain, uncomfortable, she stayed. Ten minutes. She'd give it ten minutes then she'd make her excuses and run straight home to Rusty.

"Drink?" John offered, hovering in the kitchen doorway with a bottle of wine in hand.

"No," she murmured. "Thank you."

For a moment she thought she saw a scowl flit over his face, then he came back and sat on the sofa opposite her, holding a glass of wine of his own.

"I thought you said you quit," she said involuntarily.

There was a second's pause and she saw the muscle in his jaw spasm. "Cut down," he said at last. "Not quit. I don't need to quit drinking, I just needed to quit drinking so much."

"Oh," she said, looking down at the floor.

He took a drink, then another, draining his glass without even seeming to notice. "Why are you here, Tess?" he asked softly. "Why did you come here? What are you looking for?"

Did she even know? "I wanted to know how you're doing," she said at last. "And I wanted to know why...why you hurt me."

"Oh, Tess," he sighed, regret in his voice. "I never wanted to hurt you. You know that. I love you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. And I understand why you left - I was a mess. I just wished we could have worked things out. I wish you'd stayed and we'd been able to face this together."

That wasn't fair. "I gave you chances," she protested, looking up at him swiftly, staring him straight in the eye. "I gave you too many chances. You promised you'd change and you never did."

He stood up and she flinched, automatically leaning away from him. But he just knelt on the floor by her chair and gently took her hand. She didn't quite dare draw it away. "But I've changed now, Tess," he said earnestly. "I could be good to you now. I'd treat you like you deserve. Remember how good we were together? Remember how I made you feel? It could be like that all the time."

She bit her lip hard and hesitated, wanting to let him down gently. She didn't know if that was because she wanted to spare his feelings or because she was afraid of the consequences. "I told you," she said softly. "I'm not back. I'm not interested in...picking up where we left off."

"I know you're with _him, _but I can be so much better to you," he pleaded earnestly. "I can treat you like a queen - I've come into a lot of money lately, you'll see. I can get you anything you want."

Anything she wanted...? Her face closed off and she struggled with the unfamiliar spark of anger. "I want a white wedding dress with silver roses on the hem," she said quietly. "I want a stripy salt and pepper shaker in the shape of two kissing goldfish. I want a first edition copy of Alice Through the Looking Glass, with a coverplate that makes me cry."

He stood up abruptly, staring down at her, an injured look on his face. "Your husband got you those things. Why would you want them back? I did you a favour. I helped you move on, helped you get over that loser. Or have you forgotten how he played you? How he lied to you?"

"You lied too," she shot back. "And Danny...Danny never hit me." She closed her eyes tightly. "He never hit me," she repeated and that should never mean as much as it did.

John was almost shaking with anger, but she was angry too now, too angry to be scared. Maybe this was what she'd been looking for all along.

"Is that who you left me for?" he demanded. "Are you back with that lowlife? Is he poisoning you against me? I didn't hear you objecting at the time, you know."

"I was crying," she pointed out. "I _begged _you - "

"But, as I remember, you dropped the match yourself," he pointed out mercilessly.

He'd built a bonfire out the back. Her wedding dress, and the dried flowers, all the clothes he didn't approve of, and he'd made kindling from her photographs, their wedding album, Danny's cards and love letters.

She'd been crying already, caught in his bruising grip, and he'd thrust the match book into her hands, told her to make a clean break. She shook her head. His hand crept around her throat as he asked her nicely again. She lit the match and watched the white silk burn and shrivel, like all the good times did.

"And those goldfish!" he went on with a snort, basking in his triumph as she didn't answer. "They were ugly. Tacky."

"That was the point," she said, almost inaudibly. She'd been Christmas shopping with Danny and Rusty in a little Christmas market that didn't seem to have heard of taste. Somehow, it had become a competition between the three of them to find the ugliest present possible. The goldfish had been Rusty's offering. She wondered if he still had the Elvis chicken gnome that she and Danny had bought for him...

"When I smashed them, I did you a favour," John told her contemptuously.

Her hand automatically drifted to her arm, a little point just above her elbow. "When you smashed them, you left me with a scar," she said, looking him straight in the eye.

For a moment he looked taken aback and guilty, but then he carried right on, like he had no idea what else to do. "And why would anyone want a book that made them cry? You're so stupid, Tess. You're crazy."

The book had been Danny's first anniversary present to her. She'd told him it was her favourite book, told him how she'd been so stupid to lend her mother's copy to someone at work and she'd never got it back, and somehow he'd tracked down something priceless and beautiful. And the words he'd written...the words he'd written she would have been happy reading for the rest of her life.

And John had torn the book apart, page by page, because she'd smiled as she read and she hadn't answered when he called.

"Right," she said, looking straight at him. "Why _would _I want something that made me cry? Why did you hit me, John? Why did you hurt me? Why didn't you ever listen when I begged you to stop?"

"I told you, it was the drink," he snapped. "Not me."

"You weren't always drunk," she returned swiftly. It had been at its worst when he was drunk, and he'd always been drunk when he _really _battered her, but the little day-to-day acts of cruelty...he'd been sober for them. "Why did you hurt me?"

"Why don't you ever shut up?" he demanded, towering over her. "Always nagging, always whining...and always thinking about that husband of yours when you thought I wouldn't notice. You drove me to drink, Tess. You took my money happily enough and then you just lay around the house like a fat, lazy bitch. You got yourself a job now? Or are you living off this new sap's charity?"

She couldn't help the flinch and John crowed with triumph. "I knew it! God, I hope you at least have the decency to put out for him a bit more often than you did for me. If he doesen't mind my sloppy seconds, that is."

"You made me leave my job," she reminded him miserably. "Rusty..." She bit her lip, horrified. "_He's _helping me while I find a new one," she corrected herself quickly, and just a little too late.

"Rusty?" John pounced. "What sort of a name is that? Sounds like a redneck or something." He laughed. "You sure he's able to support you? Or are you living in his trailer with his mother?"

"Shut up," she snapped, just not able to stand hearing any more. "Shut up. You don't know _anything. _You're nothing but a narrow-minded, abusive bully. You're right about one thing; I am stupid. I was stupid to come here looking for answers because you don't know, do you? You don't know why you hurt me, but I do. You just wanted to drag me down to your level." Somehow, she got to her feet. "Well, I'm leaving now, John, and - "

" - no!" He grabbed her arm and she froze, shocked.

"No," he repeated, his voice lower - calmer - but he still didn't let go of her. "Tess...let's just take a step back and calm down here. We've both said things we don't mean."

Had they? She thought that maybe they'd meant every word. "Let go of me," she said quietly. "Please."

If anything he tightened his grip a little. "Don't get all emotional," he said with a sort of condescending impatience. "I'm not hurting you. I just want to talk, that's all. I thought that's what you wanted too."

"It was," she admitted. "But now I want to leave." She tried to surreptitiously pull the cellphone out of her purse, and with a snarl of anger he dashed it out of her hand, smashing it against the wall and it fell to the ground in pieces. _Rusty. _That was her only lifeline. She was alone now, and her hands were trembling. "Let me leave now, and...and I'll call you later," she offered, and even she wasn't sure if she meant it.

"It's always about what _you_ want, isn't it, Tess?" he demanded bitterly. "You wanted to come here. You said you _needed_ me. And now you just blithely change your mind. Women like you want their man on a leash, don't they? Yours to jerk around. And then you wonder why you get smacked down."

His voice grew higher. Louder. She flinched and instinctively tried to pull away. "John...let me go. You don't want to do this. Just let me go."

"I really did want you back, you know that?" he said, staring at her, leaning in close, and she could smell the whisky on his breath, see the hunger in his eyes. She shuddered. "You're mine, Tess. When you were gone, I searched everywhere. All the holes I thought you might have run off to. I phoned round the hospitals...checked with the police. Checked with the morgue. And then you phone me, a week later, like you don't even care that I was worrying. I should have dragged you home right then. You're my woman. I love you and you're _mine._"

"I'm sorry," she said truthfully, her voice trembling. "I didn't want to make you worry. I just didn't want to hurt anymore."

"You owe me for that," he said, reaching out, ready to grab her breasts.

No! Without even thinking about it, she blocked him, and then broke his grip, just like Kat had shown her. For a second he stood there, stunned, then as she started to run past him, heading towards the door, her heart beating wildly, he roared, a noise of outrage and anger, and he swung wildly, backhanding her in the face.

She fell. Dropped to the ground like a stone, and frantically she struggled, somewhere between crawling for the door and trying to get to her feet, and then she felt his weight on her, pinning her to the ground.

"This isn't what I wanted," he breathed hoarsely in her ear, his hand stroking her hair. "Why did you have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't you just give me a chance? You've changed, Tess. You're a stuck up bitch now and I'm going to show you your place and maybe, afterwards, if you ask really nicely I'll think about taking you back."

He tore her blouse open and she turned her head and sank her teeth viciously into his hand and she tasted blood and it was sweet and salt and disgusting, but he screamed and jerked back, and she took advantage of that, scrambled around, and he was hitting her now, slapping and punching down at her, anger ruling him and she wanted to curl up and try and protect herself, wanted to throw her arms up and at least protect her face, but if she didn't stop him now then he wouldn't stop, and she knew where that would end.

Instead she punched up, her arm ramrod straight, aiming right for his adam's apple. Kat had told her never to try this unless she was sure. She was sure. Oh, God, she was sure and his eyes went wide, bulging ridiculously, and then he slumped down on top of her clutching his throat, gasping and gurgling.

The tears were falling. She was crying. Had been for some time. She had to get out of here...She had to get back to Rusty.

She kicked and squirmed and struggled, and after what seemed like forever she managed to get out from under him. Then she snatched her purse up off the ground and, not looking back, she ran out into the street, and she didn't stop until she was back at the hotel, safe in Rusty's arms, watching the horror and fury dawn as she told him everything.


	25. One Year Earlier 3

**A/N: Thanks to InSilva for knowing enough and caring enough to tell me when something is wrong. :)**

**A/N2: One more chapter in past after this one, then we're back to Benedict job, I swear it.**

* * *

><p>The fury was a constant living presence in Rusty's mind, howling ceaselessly through him, battering against his reserves, and there was no outlet for it. If this was Danny, he'd be able to admit to the rage and the murderous even as he was offering comfort, and Danny would understand, even if he wouldn't condone. But this was Tess, and she'd been driven right back into the early days of constant fear, and Rusty couldn't let the anger touch her.<p>

He couldn't get the memory of that night out of his head. The blood on Tess' face. The tears in her eyes. The buttons missing from her blouse and the dark purple bruising underneath. The pain and the shame and the terror, and for a moment his heart had stopped beating. He'd held her tight, even while he'd been looking round frantically, afraid that John might have followed her, might be _right here. _

They hadn't slept a wink that night. Once she'd finished telling him everything, once the adrenaline had worn off, Tess had been left huddled in bed, shaking, pressed against the headboard and staring at the door with dull, frightened eyes, and even after he'd pulled the dresser in front of the door, barricading them in, she'd still been barely-coherent with fear and reaction.

Too many memories. Too many living nightmares.

John had hurt her. John had hit her and hurt her and threatened to do so much worse, and Rusty could hardly breathe through the anger in his chest.

He wanted...he wanted...Fuck, he wanted to run out into the night and...and...he didn't even know. He just knew he wouldn't hesitate.

Oh, Tess. Sorry. She was so much more important. He had to stay with her, had to look after her and protect her.

_(He'd failed her. He'd been supposed to protect her and he'd let her down_.)

* * *

><p>They flew home to LA early the next morning. It didn't help.<p>

They were right back where they started. Tess wouldn't leave the house, would barely talk, struggled not to flinch when Rusty moved too quickly. He tried his best to be what she needed, patient, loving and understanding, but seeing her like this again...it hurt so much.

The gallery in Philadelphia called after three days, offering her the job. She didn't even blink when she turned it down.

"It's my own fault," she said dully as she stared at the phone and he brought her a coffee. "I was the one who called him. And I went over there...I walked into that house of my own accord. So it was all my fault for being stupid."

"You're not stupid," he said fiercely. "Of course going there was a bad idea, but that doesn't make you stupid. And more than that - just because you went to see him doesn't mean he has the right to hit you. That was his choice. That was his fault."

"I thought he'd changed," she said, looking at him with anguish in her eyes. "I really did. He said all these things...I thought he could tell me why. I thought I could forgive him and move on."

"Oh, Tess," he murmured, leaning forwards and kissing her on the forehead. He understood she'd want answers, understood that she'd...want to forgive. Just that it made his blood run cold. Because could he really be sure this wouldn't happen again? John had still been looking for her...if he found her...if he said he was really sorry...if Tess couldn't get away this time... He couldn't let that happen.

"Do you think he had changed?" she asked in a small voice.

He forced himself to look at the bruises, still ugly and livid. "No. You know he hadn't."

"But maybe he really thought he had," she went on. "He said he'd been to anger management. He said he'd cut down his drinking. Maybe...maybe he really was doing better and I just...provoked him. I said some things to him...I shouted at him. Maybe I ruined him. Maybe it was - "

" - it's not your fault," he said loudly, his hands cupping her face, and startled but not scared, she looked at him. "It's never been your fault, Tess. You went there and you showed him you wouldn't let him control you anymore, and he couldn't stand that, and he hurt you for it. That doesn't make it your fault. That makes him..." He trailed off for a second, searching for any word strong enough. "He's a monster," he said at last. "He's a monster and he deserves to die."

She sighed and leaned in close to him, her head on his shoulder. Lately, she seemed to need to touch him all the time. And he knew he should find that awkward, in the circumstances, but really, he just kept thinking that John could have killed her. Sounded like he'd been angry enough. Out of control enough. Rusty could have lost her, and how would he have found out?

"I won't let him control me," she murmured, her voice filled with self loathing. "That's why I'm hiding here, afraid to leave the house in case...in case he's somehow_ there_."

He reached out and stroked her hair. "That'll pass," he told her. "Like before. You're stronger than him, remember? We can get through this. I promise."

She smiled up at him. They would get through this together.

That was before the phone call.

It was almost midnight. They were drinking wine and playing blackjack, the TV on mute in the background, and when the phone rang it seemed to interrupt a comfortable silence.

They weren't expecting any calls. And most people would call his cell, not the house phone. Somehow, he didn't think this could be anything good. He stood up slowly and headed for the phone, and Tess was watching him, her eyes wide and fearful. She'd jumped when the phone rang.

"Hello?" he said evenly into the receiver.

For a moment there was just the sound of harsh, heavy breathing. Then "Bitch!" the voice shouted loudly and the line went dead.

Fuck. He recognised that voice. Tess had as well, and she was on her feet in an instant, backing away towards the wall, her hands pressed against her mouth, shaking her head frantically. "No," she moaned. "No, no, no, no, no."

"Tess," he started, trying to tell her that it would be alright, that he'd protect her, but even as he took a step towards her the window exploded inwards and a brick crashed onto the floor in front of him amid a shower of glass.

Tess screamed.

"Get down!" he snapped, leaping towards the window and pressing himself against the wall and risking a peek, half expecting to see John right outside, ready to attack. Instead, he heard a screech of brakes and saw a car racing away down the road.

His fists were clenched. That bastard had been here. That bastard had been right outside.

In an instant, he crossed to where Tess was huddled against the door. She wasn't crying, not quite. Not that he would blame her. "Hey," he said softly, pressing his hand against her cheek. "He's gone."

She looked up at him miserably. "He'll be back," she stated.

"Yeah," he agreed, wishing he didn't have to. "He'll be back. We need to leave here."

He would be back. And this time it had been a brick through the window. The next time it could be a bullet, or a petrol bomb. He'd chased Tess across the country; he wasn't going to just give up, and as long as that was the case, Rusty couldn't keep Tess safe. The anger raced through him and he could feel his heart pounding against his chest. God, he wished he could be alone in a room with John. Just five minutes. That's all he'd need.

"No," Tess said quietly.

Rusty blinked. "No?"

She stood up, looking determined. "I don't want to leave," she said. "If we leave...it's like running away, isn't it? He's won. I don't want to let him drive us out of our home."

"Tess..." It wasn't like he couldn't see her point. Running away never sat well with him. But sometimes it was the only option. He looked at her seriously. "He will be back. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow...I don't know. I don't think he's exactly stable and we can't predict what he's going to do. I swear, I'll...__we'll__come up with some way of dealing with this for the long term but right now...tonight...we just need to get somewhere safe. Please, Tess."

"Okay," she said unhappily. "I suppose you're right."

He smiled tiredly. "I am. We should get out of town tonight. Go pack a bag. Just the essentials and anything you really don't want to leave behind. Okay?"

She nodded and ran upstairs. Rusty followed and went to his room and started packing efficiently. Not like he'd need much. For the first time, he realised that here, in this house, with Tess, he didn't have a bag packed and ready to leave at a moment's notice.

Some way of dealing with this in the long term. Like it was going to be simple. He sighed and clenched his fists, trying to think of options. Maybe he could scare John off somehow. That could work...right up until the next time John got drunk and forgot anyway. He could set him up. Getting someone sent to prison wasn't anything he hadn't done before. Except that would involve trials and lawyers, and John would know exactly who was responsible, and that would come right back on Tess. If John managed to persuade them he was being framed, it would be Tess who would be questioned and investigated and that was just unacceptable. Course, they could always just accuse John of the crimes they knew he was undoubtedly guilty of. Except Tess wanted to be questioned about that even less, and besides, he was well aware of exactly how often that ended in a conviction, let alone a custodial sentence. Particularly since the physical evidence had faded. Might be the right thing to do, but when he couldn't guarantee the outcome, he didn't want to put Tess through that. Maybe he could get Bobby involved somehow...fuck. He just didn't _know._

Funny. Right from the start, there had always been this tiny little thought in his mind that one day Danny would be out of prison, and one day Danny would hear all about this somehow, and on that day the two of them would go after John and teach him how very wrong he was to ever contemplate laying a hand on Tess.

He imagined the look on Danny's face now, knowing Rusty couldn't protect her.

God, he wished Danny was here.

Ten minutes later they were walking out to the car. He was a step behind Tess, looking around constantly for any sign of threat, any sign of John. There was nothing though. Maybe John had shot his bolt for the night. He hoped so.

Still, he wasn't going to rely on it, and he drove a circuitous route through the streets. With a heavy heart, he stopped the car outside an out-of-the-way bar called the Cats Cradle.

Tess looked up, frowning. "What are we doing here?"

He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Tess. I need to go in here for a moment. Come with me, please."

The bar was almost empty, and Tess waited by the bar while he talked to Jacomo, and negotiated a price for the gun and few boxes of rounds.

She was staring at him, shocked.

"It's just for security," he told her quietly. "If John finds us - " - She gasped with misery - "If John finds us," he went on steadily. "I want to be able to try and scare him off, that's all."

"Rusty - " she said, clearly troubled.

" - I know, Tess," he said softly. "I _know. _I don't like it either. But I need to be able to defend us."

She nodded slowly, still unhappy.

They drove to the airport only to be met with an announcement that all flights were cancelled until further notice.

"Damnit." He swore bitterly and sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Alright. We'll get a hotel room for tonight and catch a flight first thing tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"Yes." She caught his hand and squeezed it briefly. "I'll call Kat when we get where ever we're going."

"This won't be forever, Tess," he promised. "We can come back when it's safe. If that's what you want."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"_I'm _sorry," he said.

For a moment they just gazed at each other and then, somehow, without even knowing who started it, they were kissing, a desperate expression of love and fear and misery.

They spent that night lying awake and silent in each other's arms.

Somewhere, John was out looking for them.

* * *

><p>Morning came, and he called down to the desk to make absolutely certain that no one had been looking for them. Nothing. Maybe their luck was in. But when he turned back, Tess was frantically searching through her bag, her purse emptied out over the bed.<p>

"What?" he asked with quiet dread.

She looked up. "My passport...it isn't here."

"Are you sure?" he asked, and the look he got was answer enough. She was sure. He sighed. "Alright. It'll be in the house. I'll run back and get it."

"I'll come too," she said immediately.

He shook his head quickly. "No. He knows what you look like. He doesn't know me. If he's waiting...I'll be able to slip on by without him noticing. If we both go, we won't have that option."

She nodded slowly, accepting the logic even if she obviously didn't like it.

"Stay here, keep the door locked, don't answer it for anyone, and if you have even the slightest feeling that something's wrong, call the cops and call the front desk," he instructed. "Don't hesitate. Okay?"

"Be careful," she said in answer.

He smiled. "I'll be back before you know it," he promised.

* * *

><p>He parked the car on the far side of the street and studied the house carefully. It looked quiet enough. No sign that anyone had broken in or anything...though the broken window kinda made that a little difficult to judge.<p>

Not like he really had a choice. Yes, he could get fake ID, but if John did end up breaking into the house at any point, and he found Tess' real passport, he could use it to make trouble for her. Bearing in mind the way he'd cancelled her credit cards and bank accounts before...that sort of thing obviously wasn't beneath him. Though by this point, Rusty was certain that absolutely nothing was beneath that bastard.

He thought again of the look on Tess' face last night. The abject terror. The shame. Darkly he wondered how many times she'd worn that expression when she'd been with John. It had probably been exactly what he looked for. He swallowed hard. Fuck, he wanted...He clenched his fists tightly and took a couple of deep breaths. He needed to calm down.

Alright. No one was watching. Casually he walked up the driveway and opened the door. Nothing unusual here. This was his home; he shouldn't have to be sneaking around. Tess was right. They shouldn't let John drive them away. Just that the alternatives could be so much worse...

He gritted his teeth. Right now he just had to get the passport and get back to Tess. He knew she'd be sick with worry. Once he got back they'd head straight back to the airport and get out of the country. Only then would...

Something was wrong. He froze. He'd seen something, he knew he had. He just wasn't sure what. Quickly he looked round, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

The kitchen door was ajar.

When they'd left last night, it had been closed.

The gun was a comforting weight in his coat pocket as he pushed the door open slowly.

There was a knife at his throat before he'd stepped through the door. It was one of the ones with the blue handle, he noticed absently. From the knife block by the fridge. They'd bought the set from the late night shopping channel, just because neither of them had ever bought anything from TV before. They didn't keep an edge worth a damn, but he'd sharpened them just the day before yesterday, and he could already feel a bead of blood trickling down his neck.

He followed the knife to the man who was holding it, and he was looking straight at John, looking far wilder than he had in the photos Rusty had seen in Philly. He was unshaven and sweating, breathing hard, and even from here, Rusty could smell the whisky coming off him. His eyes flickered sideways quickly, and there was a bottle of whisky lying on its side on the table. His whisky. This was turning into a murderous version of Goldilocks.

"Where is she?" John demanded, his voice slurred.

Rusty kept his expression blank. "Who?"

John's face darkened and he swung his fist hard, catching Rusty on the jaw. His head snapped back, knocking against the door frame and the knife dug into his throat a little deeper.

He couldn't reach the gun. Not without John noticing and slitting his throat, and eventually if he didn't come back, Tess would come looking and she'd find John.

He imagined Tess standing where he was. Feeling the knife against her throat. Feeling the pain where John had hit her. Feeling the awful breath on her face.

"Fuck, you're shaking," John said with disgust. "This really what she left me for? A cowardly faggot. Fucking stupid bitch."

He bit his tongue. He could work with that. No matter what, he had to make sure that this bastard didn't get anywhere near Tess. "Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice trembling and ingratiating. "This is...this is my home. I live alone, there's no girl here. Oh, God, what do you want? Money? I got - "

"Bullshit!" John shouted furiously, reversing his grip on the knife in one impossibly swift movement and smashing the hilt into Rusty's face. Everything went blurry for a moment, and he was left blinking the blood out of his eyes. "I saw you together yesterday," John hissed, leaning in close, little flecks of spittle landing on Rusty's face. The point of the knife was back twisting against his throat.

John had been watching them. He'd been watching them in their own home. Tess was supposed to be safe here. He'd promised. He took a deep breath, trying to resist the urge to throw himself forwards and wrap his hands round John's neck.

"I don't know where she is," he said, and he didn't flinch where John pressed the knife harder against his throat.

"Wrong answer, fuckface," John told him. "You have to know. I'm gonna find her. Goin' teach her a lesson. Teach that bitch her place once and for all."

The world seemed to freeze. Like everything was in slow motion. "You're never going near her again," he promised softly.

John didn't seem to hear the danger, didn't seem able to even _imagine _the danger. "Look what she did to me," he complained, tilting his head back and jabbing his finger into a fading bruise on his throat. "Bitch."

Rusty grinned with savage fondness. "That's my girl," he said, and John punched him hard in the gut.

"I just wanted her back," he moaned. "I just wanted things to be back the way they were. Only better. Maybe I'd even get around to buying her a ring."

Rusty couldn't completely suppress the shudder at the thought.

John noticed and laughed, and stabbed the knife lightly into Rusty's shoulder, dragging the point downwards, leaving a thin line of fire in its wake, the blood staining his shirt. "You don't like that, do you?" he taunted Rusty. "She was mine first. Mine. I had her. I screwed her every way you can imagine and she _looooved _it. Couldn't get enough of me." He laughed again. "Maybe I'll give her a poke for old time's sake when I find her, whatchasay?"

It wasn't madness. Maybe it would be easier to deal with if it was madness. But he was in the grip of stone cold sanity, and still there was a voice whispering in his head. This man deserved to die. This man needed to die.

"I never wanted to hit her," John went on morosely. "I tried. God knows, I tried. But I'm a man, you see? Got _needs. _I work hard. When I come home I want my house clean, my dinner on the table and my woman dressed pretty and smiling for me. That really so wrong? That really so bad? It's just basic respect. Tess never got that. But I didn't want to hit her." For a moment it seemed as though he might start crying. "She wouldn't do what I said. Why wouldn't she just do what I said? Like turning me down cos it's the 'wrong time of the month'. Like that's the only hole. But she learned that time at least."

"I can take you to her," Rusty heard himself say.

"Does she smile for you?" John asked, then he blinked blearily. "Wha'?"

"I can take you to her," Rusty repeated. "Just don't hurt me anymore, okay?" He was too angry to sound properly scared. Fortunately John was too drunk to notice.

The knife moved fractionally away from him. "Where is she?" John demanded.

"A warehouse on the docks," he said quickly. "When the brick came through the window we were so scared. I didn't know what to do. So we ran and hid."

"Like rats," John snorted contemptuously. "Alright. We're going to take a little drive, you and me. And the knife's going to stay right here so you don't get any funny ideas."

He nodded. He only had _one _idea. And it started with going somewhere quiet and out of the way.

They took his car. He drove. John slumped in the passneger seat, and true to his word, the knife hovered somewhere around Rusty's side. It would be easy enough to try and overpower him, but right now that wasn't what he was going for. The gun in his pocket had an inevitable weight.

Took about twenty minutes to reach the warehouse. Thankfully, John kept his mouth shut, or else Rusty might have shot him there and then.

He kept his mind blank. Didn't think of anything except the road and the warehouse. Taylor Lock had been running a fake handbag business out of it, but rumour had it he'd had to skip town six weeks ago. Rusty was pretty sure no one else would have moved in yet.

Certainly the place looked deserted. Falling down, too.

"This the best you have to offer her, huh?" John grinned, gesturing expansively with the knife.

He kept silent, walking straight to the door and opening the padlock with ease, only then risking a look around the dock. No one in sight. Good.

John shoved him aside and stumbled inside. "Honey, I'm home," he bellowed, and a group of bats took startled flight. "Come out, come out wherever you are. Your boyfriend brought me right here, Tess. And I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll never - "

" - John," Rusty said with quiet authority, and when John turned round to squint at him, the gun was already in his hands, ready and waiting. " I told you what would happen if you came near her again. You should never have touched her."

For a second John just stood, staring at him, his mouth hanging open stupidly. "No, wait, don't - "

The gun was a cold weight in his hand.

He fired.

John didn't fall down right away. Slowly, he reached up and touched the blood on his chest. "I don't understand," he said thickly.

He fired again. And again. And again.

John fell first to his knees and then slumped backwards to the ground, and the blood slowly spread out beneath him, staining the wooden floor.

With unhurried, measured steps, Rusty walked towards him and emptied the rest of the gun into his head.

For a long moment he just stood there, breathing in the smell of blood and gunpowder and looking down at the man he'd killed.

Then he calmly reloaded the gun and shot one more time.

"Yes," he told John quietly. "She does smile for me."


	26. One Year Earlier 4

**A/N: On reflection, I have nothing to say.**

* * *

><p>His legs felt weak and for a second he was afraid he was going to fall right next to John. He took a deep breath; he didn't have time for this right now. He had a body to dispose of.<p>

Alright. Lock kept a boat in the adjoining dock a stone's throw from the warehouse. There was stuff lying around here. He could dump John at sea, making sure that he was wrapped up properly so no...parts...floated up and came back to haunt him. Figuratively speaking, of course. A small, not-quite-hysterical laugh broke out of him. He didn't believe in ghosts. There'd be nothing tormenting him later.

So. He had the means to make sure John probably wouldn't be found. He could get rid of the gun at the same time – it wasn't traceable to him in any way – so as long as he wiped off the prints, there'd be no harm in tossing it into the sea as well.

Now, if the body was found he'd want to be sure no one knew who it was. He'd have to obscure identifiable features and dental evidence. He glanced down at John's face briefly and tried to ignore the wave of nausea. Seemed like he'd managed to do that already.

That left fingerprints. He quickly ran out to the car and retrieved a pair of latex gloves. The fresh air made him dizzy. He crouched down beside John's head and picked up his hand by the wrist. It felt...heavy. Lifeless. With a steady hand, he picked up the knife and meticulously went about the task of sawing off each pad in turn. It was like carving a chicken, he lied to himself fiercely. Just had to let the blade slide through smooth and not catch it on the bone. He ignored the warmth he could still feel through the gloves, the thick foul smell of shit, and most of all the way John was still staring up at him with his remaining eye, watching Rusty mutilate him.

He pressed his lips together tightly and got on with it.

Eventually he was done, and he wrapped the stringy pieces of flesh in an oily rag. He knew where there was a furnace nearby that should dispose of these and John's wallet and phone easily enough.

Just John himself then, and he fetched a tarpaulin and some rope from the corner of the warehouse and wrapped John up in it carefully before tying it off tightly. There.

Next he found some strong cleaning chemicals and quickly scrubbed the patch of floor John had lain on. Should be enough to obscure the evidence, hopefully.

Right. So. Now he just had to head out to sea.

Getting John out to the boat was difficult. He was taller than Rusty, after all. Heavier and bulkier, and Rusty had to wrap his arms around him and drag him outside in some strange parody of a loving embrace. Eventually he managed to drop John into the boat, get the engine on and head out to sea.

It was almost peaceful. The water was calm and the sun was shining and once he'd got clear of the traffic near the shore there was nothing to do but think.

Only he didn't want to think.

There was still blood trickling through his shirt where John had cut him. He didn't feel the pain. Felt...numb. Tess had bought him this shirt and it was ruined now. He stared out to sea and tried to count the waves.

Four hours out and he dumped John over the side, weighed down with chains.

He stood for a long moment, staring down at the ripples spreading out and disrupting the calm. Somehow, he had the absurd feeling he ought to be saying something. Instead he sat down, leaning back against the side of the boat, and pulled out the pencil sketch of Danny and the little photo of him and Tess smiling together at Kat's barbeque. For what seemed like an eternity he just sat and looked at their faces. There was no comfort to be had there, but with a trembling hand, he traced his thumb over each face in turn, a shaking plea for absolution.

The sun was setting by the time he'd got back to shore and was standing and watching the furnace burn away the last traces of John. The oily fleshy rag had burnt away to nothing immediately, with a strange bright flare. It had been almost pretty.

And that was everything. _Almost _everything, he realised, with a sigh, and he pulled out his phone and pretended he was surprised to see the dozen missed calls.

He ignored them for the moment, calling an entirely different number.

It was answered breezily after a few rings. "Ray's garage, whatchawant?"

"Ray, it's Rusty Ryan," he identified himself. "Got a car I need disappeared. Tonight. Think you can make it happen?"

"No problem," Ray said expansively. "By tomorrow morning it'll be in pieces. By next week it'll be driving around in twenty different cars in five different states. Sound good to you?"

"Yeah. Thanks," he said tiredly.

"You bet it does," Ray agreed. "And this premium service will only set you back two grand."

"Sure," he agreed.

There was a pause. "Ah, hell. Call it fifteen hundred, Rusty."

He nodded uncaring. "I'll be with you in an hour or so."

He drove back to the house and took John's car round to the garage. Ray's eyes lingered on the blood on his shirt and the bruises on his face, and Rusty was just glad he could trust Ray not to say anything to anyone.

Without a word, he handed over the money and turned to leave.

"Hey, Rusty, you want to maybe sit down a moment?" Ray suggested, uncharacteristically anxious, and Rusty wondered just how bad he looked. "Maybe have a coffee? A drink?"

"Nah," he said briefly. "Got things to do."

He headed back to collect his car from the house, listening to his phone messages as he did.

They were all from Tess, of course. He'd been gone almost twelve hours now, and they started out calm with just a hint of anxiety, and quickly descended into frantic-worry and tightly-controlled panic.

"Rusty, it's been two hours. I know it's probably nothing but give me a call when you get this, please."

"Rusty. I don't know where you are but...just call me. Please."

By the fifth message she was considering checking the house. By the seventh she was leaving, and he winced for what she would find, and certainly the fear was audible in her voice by the next call.

"I'm at the house...there were things smashed. A whisky bottle on the table. I think John's been here. And you're not... Rusty, I don't know what to do. I'm heading back to the hotel, and if you're not there, I'm going to call the cops. I know you won't like that, but I just want you safe and I don't know what else to do."

The next message was full of anger.

"They wouldn't listen to me! They said to give it twenty four hours and try again if you hadn't turned up. Even when I tried to tell them about John and the brick through the window." She took a deep breath and he could hear her struggling to hold back the tears. "I'm sorry. I couldn't make them listen." There was a long moment of silence and when she spoke again it was barely a whisper. "Please. Please just call me."

He understood what she meant. _Please come back. Please be alive. _And he should call her, but he didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he'd say when he was standing in front of her either.

Somehow he managed to get back to the hotel, despite feeling like his mind was encased in concrete. He even managed to sneak past the front desk and get upstairs without anyone noticing anything untoward, and then he was standing outside their hotel room door, pulling his jacket closed to hide the blood on his shirt, and the door opened as if by magic.

Tess was in front of him immediately, gazing at him with a mix of horror and relief. "Rusty! Oh, Rusty, thank God you're back." She stared at the bruises on his face worriedly, and reached out a hand towards him. "You're hurt though, let me see."

He took a step back. "Tess," he said with difficulty. "Tess, sit down a moment, will you?"

She stilled. "What is it? What happened?" She looked anxiously over his shoulder towards the door. "Is John - "

" - John's dead," he told her bluntly.

For a moment she just stared at him blankly. "What?" she asked faintly.

"John's dead," he repeated. "I killed him."

"I don't understand," she said her brow creased. "You...he...it was self defence?"

He hesitated for a second. John had been holding the knife. Only that wasn't what it had been about and he knew it. He shook his head. "I...he was in the house when I arrived. He wanted to know where you were. I wanted him dead. I lured him to a quiet spot and I shot him thirteen times. Then I got rid of the body."

There was horror in her eyes and more than a hint of revulsion. "But that's...no. No, you wouldn't do that. Tell me you wouldn't do that."

Numbly he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"No!" She sank down to the ground as if her legs couldn't hold her up anymore. "John! Oh, God, John." Her face was buried in her arms and she was crying.

Instinctively he stepped towards her and she flinched away, staring up at him like he was a stranger. "Don't."

"Tess," he pleaded softly.

She shook her head. "How could you do that, Rusty? How could...?" She swallowed hard, looking faintly sick. "I need to get out of here." She took a deep breath. "It'll be safe for me to go back to the house, right?"

He nodded silently. There was no one left to hurt her, after all. No one except him.

"Right." She stood up, swaying slightly, and she looked exhausted and frightened and bereft, and he longed to take her into his arms and promise that he'd make everything right again. Only he didn't know where to start.

"I'll drive you home," he offered softly.

"I'll get a cab," she said instead, glancing at him. "Rusty..." She reached out as if to touch his hand and her fingers hovered mere millimetres away from him.

He closed his eyes and turned away and she was gone.

On his own, he collapsed onto the sofa, his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees.

He was more cold and more alone than he'd ever been in his life and the smell of blood clung to him like a second skin.

* * *

><p>This was a nightmare. She just couldn't get her head around it, couldn't even start to understand.<p>

John was dead.

Rusty had murdered him.

Those two thoughts just kept repeating in her head, over and over again, a dull, agonising drumbeat. John was dead. Rusty was a murderer.

She'd had to get away. He'd stood there, telling her everything, because he wouldn't lie, not even then, and she'd felt like she didn't know him anymore. She'd wanted to take him into her arms and comfort him, get some ice for the bruises on his face, and at the same time...

John was dead. Rusty had killed him.

She felt sick.

And when she'd arrived back at the house it was cold and dark, and she'd felt so alone, so uncertain, and when there was a knock at the door barely half an hour later, she'd just assumed it was Rusty and she'd been so _glad..._

It wasn't, of course. It was a glazier. He'd nodded politely to her, and she'd let him in and stood watching as he fixed the window, and afterwards, as she'd tried to pay him, he'd smiled and shook his head.  
>"Already taken care of, isn't it? Got a sizeable tip too. Have a good night, ma'am."<br>Of course Rusty had paid him. Had thought to call him in the first place. For the first time, the consideration angered her. He couldn't be..._that..._and then go around killing people. It just didn't make sense. She didn't understand.  
>He was her best friend. Her thoughtful, loving best friend, with the warmest smile and the wickedest sense of humour. And he'd shot John thirteen times and she just didn't understand how he <em>could. <em>  
>And John was dead.<br>The awful thing was, that part was a relief. She was _glad _she was never going to have to see him again, and that made her feel sick inside. God, what sort of a person was she? He'd hurt her, but that didn't mean he deserved to die. She'd never wanted him dead.  
>He had friends, family, workmates...they would be wondering where he was. What had happened to him. And Rusty said he'd disposed of the body, and that meant that they'd never know. He'd just...rot somewhere. Alone, missed and still unmourned.<br>Oh, John. The tears stung her eyes.  
>He hadn't been all bad, after all. He'd been a good listener, and he'd been sweet to her when she was feeling under the weather, bringing her tea and chocolate and a bunch of flowers. And he'd loved her, and he'd just wanted her to come back, and he <em>hadn't deserved to die. <em>  
>And Rusty had killed him.<br>She wondered if it had hurt. She wondered if he'd been afraid.  
>She should go to the police, really. That was the right thing to do. The only moral thing to do. She should tell them what Rusty had done and why...let justice be done. Only she <em>couldn't. <em>No matter what, she still loved him.  
>But maybe she still loved John. At any rate, she'd tried to call the police when she'd thought that John had Rusty. All that time Rusty had been gone, she'd been imagining John hurting him, like he hurt her. She'd pictured him dying, even, a dozen different ways, and it had been more than she could bear. She'd prayed he'd come back safely. She'd thought she'd give <em>anything...<em>  
>And all that time he'd been committing murder. And she still cared too much to turn him in.<br>She was so angry with him. So disappointed.  
>And the awful thing was, this was all her fault. Rusty would never have killed John if it wasn't for her. He'd done it because he loved her, and she'd driven him to it. And more than that, because she'd said first of all, right from that first night, that lying was okay, and then when they'd needed money she'd agreed to stealing - encouraged it, even, enjoyed hearing the stories, seeing him smile - and now, was murder any more than the next natural step?<br>John said she made him hit her. He'd said that he was doing better, that he'd been in anger management before she came back and spoiled everything. She ruined everything. Everyone. It was like her love was poison.  
>Maybe she should just be glad that Danny had already been a criminal before he met her.<br>She drifted around the house for a few days, not certain what she should be doing, how she should be feeling. A few times she went to call Kat but stopped herself just in time. She couldn't tell anyone about this, not even Kat. It was too much of a risk. She had to protect Rusty at all costs, and already she could feel the weight of this awful secret crushing her. Rusty called her every day and she answered reluctantly and spoke just enough to let him know she was alright. She didn't want him to worry, but she couldn't bear to see him.  
>It felt like she was stuck. Left with something that wasn't quite a life, and it reminded her of the dull empty days after Father had died, and it reminded her of the silence after Danny went to prison.<br>This was why she'd decided to live life alone. She should have stuck to that.  
>Except she was so lonely... And she was worried about Rusty. As ridiculous as it sounded, she was worried about how well he was coping with...what he'd done...even as she hated him for it. But when she remembered the look in his eyes...she longed to take him into her arms and promise that everything was going to be alright.<br>But it wasn't alright. And three days after she got home, there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find three men standing there, lounging on the doorstep.  
>"Miss Halliday?" the shortest of them asked, and there was a trace of some accent in his voice that she couldn't quite place. "We're with the police. We'd like to ask you a couple of questions about a Mr John Ross."<br>Oh, God, no! She wasn't quite able to keep the flash of fear off her face.  
>The police officer narrowed his beady eyes. "I see you know him then," he said knowingly. "May I ask how?"<br>She swallowed hard. "He was..." She hesitated for a second. "He _is _an ex-boyfriend," she said hurriedly. "We broke up a year ago. I...went to see him last month. It didn't go well. I haven't seen him since."  
>"I see," the officer said neutrally. "Would it surprise you to know that Mr Ross came down here with the expressed purpose of finding you?"<br>"No. But I haven't seen him," she said with absolute truth.  
>For a long moment he just stared at her searchingly. "I see," he said again. "Perhaps he changed his mind."<br>"Perhaps," she agreed, thankfully. "I...is that all? I need to go out. I'm meeting someone."  
>"Of course, Miss Halliday," he nodded. "If there is anything else, we shall be in touch."<br>"Certainly," she said, smiling prettily at him, and she went back inside, closing the door behind her and sinking to the ground. Oh, God. They were looking for John. They'd come looking and she'd...she'd _lied. _By omission, if nothing else.  
>This was Rusty's fault. He'd done this. He'd made her care and then he'd put her in this position and she'd <em>lied. <em>She was an accomplice to murder.  
>Anger running through her, she stood up and blindly grabbed the phone in the hall. He answered immediately.<br>"Tess. You okay?"  
>"I need to talk to you," she said coldly. "Not here. I'll meet you at the park near the hotel in twenty minutes."<br>There was a pause. "I'll be there," he promised. "Tess..."  
>She hung up. She couldn't bear to share the anger and grief. Not right now. Because if she let herself start crying, she might never stop.<br>He was already waiting when she arrived, leaning against the parapet on the bridge. He looked...tired. Tired and somehow older than he had just three days ago. Perhaps that wasn't surprising. After all, _she _felt older than she had three days ago. Funny how the whole world could fall apart so easily.  
>Still, he smiled when he saw her and the relief lasted at least two seconds before he frowned, studying her carefully. "What's happened?" he asked, his voice tight with anxiety.<br>"The police came to the house," she told him, barely able to get the words out, struggling not to yell, not to ask how he could have done this to them. "They were asking about John."  
>"The police?" He frowned, like he couldn't even imagine why the police would want to talk to them about a murdered man, and she wanted to shake him, wanted to blame him for everything. "Okay. I can fix this. What were their names? You get a contact number?"<br>"No, they didn't give me anything," she said impatiently, and that wasn't what mattered.

There was a pause. "Not even a name?" he asked, and as she glared, he actually smiled, just a little. "Right. Right. What did you tell them?"

"I told them I hadn't seen John since Philadelphia and that I didn't know anything, and I _think _they believed me..." She bit her lip. "I can't do this anymore, Rusty."  
>He wasn't even looking at her, she realised. He was looking somewhere past her, his eyes fixed further down the road, like he'd seen a ghost.<br>Caught somewhere between concern and anger, she reached out to grab his hand, needing to get his attention, and he pulled away from the touch instantly, and that hurt, but he turned to face her, focusing on her completely again."You can't do this anymore?" he echoed.  
>Suddenly she was just so tired and she just wanted this to be over. "I can't," she said and her voice sounded so cold. "What you did...I can't look at you without thinking about it. Without imagining..." She shuddered. "I know you did it for me, but I never asked you to. I never <em>wanted <em>you to."  
>"I know," he said softly, his voice pained and sorry, but when she looked up his face was distant. Closed off, like he didn't even <em>care. <em>She thought he'd have tried to talk her out of it.  
>"I never want to see you again," she said, and he didn't even flinch. "I'm going to leave," she said, half turning away. "Get out of town and find somewhere new. Try and forget everything."<p>

"Maybe that's best," he said, sounding tired. "You should get out of town as soon as possible. So the...police don't bother you again. Just...be careful, Tess."

This was all wrong. This wasn't what she wanted...but he'd killed John, and that wasn't going to change, and she had to just walk away.

When she looked back, he wasn't even watching after her. He was leaning into a car that had pulled up beside him, gazing through the tinted window. Giving directions, she guessed.

He wasn't going to follow.

She didn't _want _him to follow. This was the right choice. It wasn't even a choice, it was what she had to do. He'd killed John. There was no way back from this.


	27. The Benedict Job 11

**A/N: This story is now a year old. Huh.**

* * *

><p>Danny stared down at his cellphone in disbelief. Rusty had hung up on him. Rusty had actually hung up on him. That was just...that had <em>never <em>happened before.

For a moment he hesitated, caught between the conflicting impulses. Rusty had said something had happened with Tess and Terry, something bad, and he had to go find her, had to help her. But at the same time, he'd heard the strain in Rusty's voice and something was wrong, and he had to go find out what.

Tess and Rusty, both in trouble, and he could only try and help one, and neither of them would talk to him. This might just be his own personal hell.

Alright. Rusty had told him to go to Tess. He had to trust that Rusty knew what he was doing. Of course, Rusty knowing what he was doing and Rusty doing something sensible didn't always exist within the same universe...

He sighed. He was about a half block away from the Bellagio. Time to sprint.

Once inside, he took the elevator up to the thirtieth floor and headed straight to the stairwell which Rusty had indicated. Not like he doubted Rusty was right. Rusty knew his way around the Bellagio blindfolded. And Rusty knew Tess.

Rusty knew Tess. Somehow, Rusty knew Tess better than Danny did. What the hell had happened while he'd been inside? The two of them had always got along, but they'd never been that sort of close. Only now Rusty felt confident predicting where Tess would go when she was upset, and when Tess was in trouble, she ran straight to Rusty. She ran to Rusty. Not to him. And that was fine, of course that was fine - obviously he'd rather she go to _someone. _And hell, everyone called Rusty when they were in trouble, it was just one of those immutable laws of the universe. So if Tess and Rusty had...got to know each other better...then it only made _sense _that...

He closed his eyes and paused for a second on the landing, his hands flat against the wall, and he felt like hitting something.

The truth was, it hurt. It hurt like hell. God, there was even a tiny part of him that was rejoicing that whatever had happened this morning, Rusty had obviously screwed it up enough to make Tess leave. And that made him feel sick to the stomach with himself. That wasn'thim.

Only it was Tess and it was Rusty, and it _hurt. _

And they still needed him.

He shoved the pain and jealousy aside and took the rest of the stairs at a run.

He slammed through the door and stared wildly round the roof, looking for Tess. After a second he spied her standing at the opposite corner, practically standing on the ledge, looking out over the strip and towards the desert.

He froze, suddenly remembering what she'd told him about her Mom, and it felt like his heart stopped beating.

Slowly - quietly - he walked closer, not wanting to startle her. She didn't look round. Didn't seem like she'd heard him. "Tess," he said softly, once he was almost within reach.

It was a long moment before she turned, and he could see at once that she'd been crying. For a second she looked surprised, like he wasn't who she'd been expecting, and in spite of everything he felt a pang of jealousy. But then she sighed. "Danny. I should have known."

"What are you doing?" he asked, as calmly as he could, his mouth dry, and he longed to pull her back away from the edge.

She blinked, as though puzzled, and then, with dawning understanding, she glanced over the edge of the roof and turned back to him. "Do you really think I'm planning on jumping?" she asked incredulously.

He just didn't know. "I'm worried about you," he said, looking straight at her, willing her to see his sincerity, to see how much he cared.

She looked away from him quickly. "I wouldn't do that," she said quietly, and she took a couple of steps further back onto the roof. "I just came here to think."

Rusty had said. But Danny was hardly listening now, because when she'd put her head down he'd caught sight of the cut on her head. "What happened?" he asked, horrified.

"What? Oh!" She put her hand up to her forehead self consciously, like she was trying to hide it. "It's nothing. I fell and hit my head, that's all."

He wasn't absolutely certain he believed that was all. He took a deep breath. "Is there anything I can do?" he offered softly. "I know you're angry with me, and you have every right to be - "

" - I'm too tired to be angry," she interrupted. "With you, with Rusty, with J...with Terry. Maybe tomorrow I'll go back to being angry, but now I'm just..." She closed her eyes. "Disappointed."

"I'm sorry," he said inadequately.

"You're here for a job, aren't you?" she said, looking straight at him. "I saw the men in Rusty's room. You're here to steal from Terry."

"I'm here for you," he said truthfully. "I had to see you again."

She shook her head. "If that was all you wanted, you could have just come and found me, Danny. You said Rusty didn't tell you about...everything."

"No," Danny said with difficulty. "He didn't."

"Will you tell me something?" she asked intently. "Truthfully, I mean."

There was a desperation in her eyes and he nodded. "Anything."

"Why Terry?" She swallowed hard. "And don't say it's for me, because Rusty didn't even know I was here until two days ago. And I know that Rusty doesn't go after marks who don't deserve it, so...why Terry?"

_'Rusty doesn't go after marks who don't deserve it.'_ There was absolute unshakeable faith in her voice, and Danny battled the desire to give her a few names who probably hadn't deserved it, but could most certainly afford it. Instead, he sighed. "Terry deserves it," he said with perfect truth. "His business practices are less than reputable...people who cross him get a short sharp lesson, and then he takes out their family and friends, just because he can. He'll muscle out his competition anyway he can - spreading rumours, sending ringers in to cause trouble, buying out suppliers...flat out going back on deals. One guy I heard about had a restaurant that was struggling. Terry invested in it. Turned it around, promised the guy a partnership, then when the restaurant started doing well he pulled the rug out from under him. Left him with worthless shares in some holding company and a job waiting tables in his own restaurant. He's not a good guy, Tess."

Her eyes weren't giving anything away. "But that's just business," she stated. "That's how things are in this town."

Not how things had to be. He remembered Reuben doing business. There was no comparison.

"What else," Tess pressed. "What aren't you telling me?"

The things he never wanted to tell her. The things he never wanted her to know about. "People who really cross Benedict...they don't get away with just financial losses," he said slowly. "There's a room in the basement specially for dealing with cheats and troublemakers. One of his dealers got caught with his hand in the till a month or so back. He's still in the hospital. And there are rumours..." He stopped.

"Rumours?" she asked, her eyes insistent.

He didn't want her to know about this. Whatever else Tess did care about Terry, and as much as he wanted her to see what Terry really was, he didn't want her hurt. But hadn't he lied to her enough? She'd asked him for the truth. "Rumours," he emphasised. "About a few people who stood in Benedict's way on his way to the top, and some people who stole from him going...missing."

"He killed them," she said flatly, and the awful thing was, she didn't even sound shocked.

"Probably not personally," he offered. Probably, maybe. "And nothing was ever proved. The police weren't involved. They might just have got scared off." But he could tell, neither of them believed it.

"Some bodies are never found," she whispered, her eyes far away, and he didn't understand. "Thank you," she said. "For telling me the truth."

"I should never have lied to you," he said abruptly. He'd had four years to think about it, and he knew where he'd gone wrong. "I was just afraid you'd...I was just afraid."

"Don't," Tess said, with a small shake of her head. "Not now. Just don't."

Right. And yet, he couldn't just leave it. He took a deep breath. "I want you to know that I _am _sorry. For lying, for going behind your back...for all of it. I'm so sorry, Tess. I know I hurt you, but I want to help you now. You're in trouble. Let me help, and I promise I won't assume it means anything between us."

He waited, breathless, but she was silent and she wouldn't look at him.

"I hated you so much after you were gone," she said in a small voice. "You made me feel things I'd never felt for anyone before, and then it was all just a lie, and I felt so stupid."

"It wasn't a lie," he interrupted fiercely. "I never lied about the way I feel about you. Not once. I love you more than life itself, and that's never gonna change. No matter what." Even if she had...even if she and Rusty were...He still loved Tess.

Still she wouldn't look at him. "I had to leave New York to get away from what happened. I had to make a new life for myself. Start over, with nothing. And I worried about you every day, and I hated myself for worrying about you, and I hated _you._"

"I'm sorry," he said helplessly, fighting the urge to step forwards and take her in his arms. He didn't have the right. "I'm so sorry."

He could hear the tears in her voice now. "I tried so hard to forget about you. I found another job, I found an apartment, but I couldn't figure out how to live without you. Not really live. I was so lonely...And then I met John, and he told me you didn't care, and the first time he hit me I prayed you'd walk through the door and save me. But you never did."

_What?_

The world came to a crashing halt. For a moment he just stared, struggling to make sense of the words roaring through his head.

"He hit you?" he repeated, his voice unrecognisable, and this was it. This was the secret that changed everything. This was what he'd missed, and he should have known, he should have been there, he should have...he should have..."_He hit you_?"

She froze, like she hadn't quite meant to tell him that. Then she looked up at him swiftly, fear and anger and hatred on her face. "Yes, alright. Yes, he hit me. Yes, I moved in with him anyway and let him..._let _him...He _hurt_ me, and I would never have even _met _him if it wasn't for you. If you hadn't gone to prison...if I'd never met you, I wouldn't have met him and...and..." Her face crumpled and she turned away from him, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

Unable to stop himself, unable to wait a moment longer, he stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as gently as he could, and he felt her flinch but then a second later she reached up and grabbed his hand, and maybe she was just taking comfort in him because he was _there_, but right now he __was__there, and maybe that was what mattered.

After a moment, she pulled away from him. Her face was blank but there was a tinge of embarrassment rising in her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "I shouldn't have let that happen. I'm not normally so..._emotional." _She almost choked on the word, and he could see her biting back several harsher descriptions, and he hated the formality, like they didn't even know each other.

"It's okay," he said gently, and his own voice was thick and choked. "Oh, Tess, it's always okay. I'm here for whatever you need from now on, I swear it."

He could see her shoulders shaking.

He wanted to ask who, and he wanted to ask where and he wanted to track him down, find him, make him _hurt. _But right now, that wasn't the problem. Right now there was Terry Benedict to be dealt with.

"Rusty knows," he stated as a lead in.

She nodded. "I...I called him. Like you asked me to. He...he got me away from there. Looked after me." Her eyes were shining with a love that even the anger couldn't completely hide.

Didn't mean that Danny wasn't grateful. He swallowed with difficulty. "And after?" he asked softly. "Why here? Why Terry?"

"Something happened," she said hesitantly. "Something bad."

"What?" he asked swiftly, and he regretted it as she shook her head.

"I can't tell you," she pleaded. "I _can't. _But I had to leave, and I ended up here. And I met Terry and he was...I _thought _he was a good man. When I was with him it felt like I didn't have to worry, or think about anything. He made all the decisions, and I thought that was what I needed."

He couldn't help but shudder at the picture she painted. He could see her, vulnerable and hurting (_and where had Rusty been?_) meeting Terry and being taken advantage of, and by the time she might have recovered, Terry would have taken complete control.

"He can be kind," she said, almost in protest. "And he's clever and good to talk to. I liked him because he was always so calm, always in control, and he's generous and thoughtful - he pays attention to all the little details."

Danny stared at her, his mouth dry. The list of qualities...he couldn't help but think..."He reminded you of Rusty."

Her face whitened. "Yes," she admitted in a very small voice. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but oh, God, yes."

He swallowed hard. "Don't tell him," he requested softly. Didn't matter that he himself might never manage to forgive Rusty, that particular twist of the knife would be too far and too cruel.

She shook her head, seemingly unable to speak.

"Don't go back to Terry, Tess," he said quietly. "Please. I can get you away from here, I swear." _We could start over._ He didn't say it, much as he wanted to. That would be her decision, not his.

"I'm not going to," she said swiftly. "Last night was enough. He didn't _hurt _me...but he hurt me. I don't want to live like that anymore."

"Then let me help you," he begged. "Please."

"No." She shook her head abruptly. "No. Nothing's changed. I'm still...you're my ex husband, Danny. That's it. You still lied to me. You still stole from all those people. I started to think for for a while it didn't matter, but I know where that leads now and I can't...I can't."

Right now, Danny would give up anything in the world to be able to take all that back. He just wanted to help. "What will you do?" he asked, subdued.

She looked away. "I've got a friend in LA," she said slowly. "I think I might go and stay with her, if she'll have me. It's been a year..." She looked back up at him hesitantly. "I might give you a call when I get settled in. If that's okay. Not for...just to let you know I'm alright."

He couldn't hope to hide the smile of thankful relief. Right now, he'd settle for any promise of contact. "That would be fine," he told her. "I've got a new number..."

He wrote it down for her quickly and she glanced at it before tucking it away safely in her purse.

"I should go," she said, glancing back towards the door. "Thank you, Danny. You've helped me get a lot of things straight in my head." She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and then she walked away towards the stairs, and she didn't look back.

Danny was alone again.

With a heavy sigh, he headed back down the stairs he'd come up. He was glad she was getting out of here, but this should never have happened in the first place. None of it.

Someone had hit her. Someone had actually hit Tess. The fury was cold and dark and overpowering, whispering through his head over and over again. He needed to know who. He needed to know who, because they should be dead. Tess was everything he'd ever want, and the idea that someone had dared hurt her... They should be dead.

And Rusty had known. God, he couldn't believe it. How could Rusty not tell him? How _dare _Rusty not tell him. The anger flared up at the thought and he clenched his fists tight. Rusty had just been trying to protect Tess. Only he hadn't done such a good job, because Tess had wound up in Vegas, and in his own way, Terry enjoyed hurting her too.

With a wordless cry, he slammed his fist against the wall.

He could blame everyone else all he wanted; truth was, so much of this was his fault. She was right. He'd lied to her and he'd left her alone when she needed him. He'd ruined her life, he couldn't blame her for not wanting him back.

He just wanted her safe and happy, even if that meant losing her. (_Even if that meant losing her to Rusty?_)

Right now, he should go find out what was happening with Rusty, but when he tried phoning his cell was off, and that made him frown. Whatever else was going on...however hurt and angry he was...there were still a few things he knew for certain. And Rusty wouldn't keep his phone turned off unless he was in trouble.

Fuck.

He took the stairs at a run, heading straight for Rusty's room, and he opened the door just in time to hear Linus say "But we got to tell Danny!"

"You have to tell me what?" he asked mildly, as he closed the door behind him and looked around the room. Linus, Livingston, Frank and Basher were standing there, looking at him with expressions of varying panic. "And where's Rusty?" he added, frowning.

No one answered either point. Linus was staring at him wildly, mouth moving silently.

This wasn't a good sign. His eyes flickered from person to person. None of them were willing to meet his gaze, and there was an air of worry and embarrassment...maybe even pity.

Everyone was keeping secrets from him. Rusty...Tess...now his friends. No more. He just wasn't going to let this slide.

He smiled sharply. "What's going on?" he asked softly, looking round with careful calculation and finally fixing on his target. "Linus?"

Linus spluttered for a moment. "Well...I mean, that is...we don't really know anything for sure - "

" - you knew Tess was with Benedict?" Frank cut in, staring straight at him.

Not anymore. But for simplicity's sake, he inclined his head. "Yes."

Frank nodded, his expression dark. He hated being kept out of the loop, Danny knew. Too bad. This was personal, even if it did affect the job. "She came looking for Rusty. Then she left and he followed."

Uh huh. Except he already knew Rusty _hadn't_ followed Tess, because he'd called Danny to go and find Tess. "He followed?" he asked, hoping that there was something - some clue that would tell him where Rusty had really gone.

Frank shrugged. "They looked...close," he said carefully.

"Frank!" Livingston hissed, before looking at Danny anxiously. "I'm sure it wasn't what it looked like...I mean, Rusty wouldn't do that to you, right?"

Right. And now Danny had a good idea of exactly what it had looked like, and he couldn't help the fury screaming through him, the hurt.

"They looked _very _close," Linus contributed awkwardly when he didn't say anything, and he couldn't bear to see the sympathy on the kid's face.

"I got it, thanks," he said easily, and nothing was showing on his face, not a thing. "Did Rusty tell you he was going to follow T...to follow her?"

"No-o," Linus said slowly. "But he disguised himself first of all."

"There are cameras in all the corridors," Livingston pointed out. "I think he was trying to avoid them. But he knows this place backwards, Danny, even if someone was looking for him, they wouldn't find him."

That sort of assumed that security didn't know their own hotel every bit as well. He bit his tongue savagely. What had been in Rusty's head? He couldn't figure it out, no matter how he tried. There were so many pieces of this puzzle missing...and everyone was still trying not to look at him.

His best friend was sleeping with his wife, and that wasn't the secret they were afraid to tell him?

"What?" he asked, and he couldn't quite keep the edge from his voice. Enough to make Linus jump.

"You should talk to Rusty," Basher said with deep unhappiness.

Oh, he was going to. But right now, he was talking to them. "_What?" _he asked again.

Frank took a deep breath. "Rusty said he killed someone."

He just stopped and stared. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. He didn't know what to think, what to feel. Rusty had...Rusty had killed someone?

"Murdered," Linus corrected, like it made a difference, his voice low and subdued. "He said murdered."

"He said they deserved it," Livingston added quietly.

All the pieces fell into place. Rusty, colder and harder than he ever had been before. Rusty, loving Tess. Tess being abused. Tess having to leave Rusty because of something terrible.

He looked straight at Livingston. "Then he probably did," he said.

He knew what had happened. Oh, God help them, he knew.


	28. The Benedict Job 12

**A/N: This is not Christmassy fic! **

* * *

><p>Terry was not having a good morning. From the moment he'd got up, things had been going wrong. Before that, even, because the very first thing he'd seen when he'd opened his eyes had been the dried blood on Tess' face, and that was a source of discomfort and guilt. Much as he'd enjoyed it at the time, he'd gone further than he'd intended to last night. Still, it was difficult to see what else he could have done. If this relationship was going to work - and he certainly intended it should - she needed to learn he meant business. A relationship without respect was doomed to fail.<p>

Besides, she'd seemed fine this morning. Doubtless he was overreacting. Still, perhaps they might go away for the weekend in a month or so. Once he could arrange it so that things wouldn't fall apart in his absence. He would take her to Europe. Indulge her. Maybe, if she continued to meet his expectations, he might even ask her to marry him.

Mmm. He could imagine the pictures in the society pages now. That would put the announcement of their engagement right during the slow season. With enough pictures showing the very best his hotels had to offer, he might be able to get a head start on the competition in the run up to the holiday period. And then the wedding itself would fall the next summer and he had no doubt that could be extremely good for business if he played it right. It was fortunate Tess was quite so photogenic. With the right pictures of her in the right papers, he could easily pick up a larger share of the female demographic. Perhaps he could even lure a few more of the women high rollers away from Bank. That would be something to celebrate.

In the meantime, the morning continued to go badly. He'd actually forgotten, until he got to the office, that he'd fired Marcia last night. Not that he regretted the decision - there was a standard of behaviour he expected from his PA, and questioning his personal life didn't come into it - but it did mean that his day was far more chaotic than he was used to. He would need to see about hiring someone new as soon as possible. It wasn't easy to find someone prepared to put in the hours he expected, and be available to him twenty four seven though. One more thing to be annoyed about. Plus, it seemed that Willy Bank had managed to announce his new deal for platinum players a day before Terry had planned on announcing the exact same offer. Somehow, someone must have told Bank about his plans, but Terry had no idea who.

His lip curled. Whoever it was, they would regret it when he caught up with them.

It set the tone up for the day though, so perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised when Lewis walked up to him and stood, hovering awkwardly, like he would rather be anywhere else in the world right now.

"What?" he asked with mild irritability.

Lewis shuffled his feet like a naughty schoolboy and Terry let his impatience and displeasure show on his face. He had no use for a security employee who was too afraid to share bad news. If there was a problem, he had to know right away, and he was already considering the most likely scenarios. It was a surprise when Lewis slowly said. "It's Ms Halliday."

Tess? He raised an eyebrow. He'd left her barely ninety minutes ago, safe in his bed. "What about her?"

"You asked us to track her and alert you to anything unusual," Lewis continued uncomfortably. "About fifteen minutes ago, she left your suite and made her way around to another hotel room. I've..._we've _checked, and it's registered to a Mr Declan Marsh."

He took a deep breath, concentrating on managing the anger in front of his staff. Another _man's _hotel room. She was making a fool of him in front of his people and he could hardly believe it. After last night, she still didn't understand the way things were? She was _his. _It was time she learned that.

"I see," he said coldly, his eyes daring Lewis to say anything - anything at all. "And then?"

"She left about three minutes later," Lewis went on quickly. "Unfortunately we, uh, lost track of her." He felt a surge of anger at this new evidence of incompetence. "But a man left the room about three minutes after that, and made his way down to the main casino floor. We have a couple of guys tracking him now, if you say the word, we'll have him picked up."

He didn't even have to think about it. This man, whoever he was, had clearly encroached on what was Terry's. There had to be consequences for that. "Do it," he ordered, with a cold smile. "And have them wait for me downstairs. I believe I will take a...personal interest...in this."

"Yes, Mr Benedict," Lewis nodded, and left quickly, looking relieved.

He would deal with this Declan Marsh first. Then, once he had the answers he wanted, he would deal with Tess.

* * *

><p>Declan Marsh didn't look like much, Terry considered, as he stood in the doorway, staring at the man where he cowered on a metal chair in the middle of the floor. Mousy hair, shabby clothes, thick glasses and a habit of nervously licking his lips whenever he so much as tried to meet Terry's eyes. An insignificant little man, in short. Completely unimpressive.<p>

And this was what Tess was cheating on him with? If he wasn't so angry, he could almost laugh. There could be no comparison.

And yet Tess had made one. He had offered Tess the sort of life most women dreamed of, he'd shown her the best he had to offer and asked for extremely little in return, and she'd still been seeing this _nobody _behind his back.

Well, now he wanted her to make another comparison.

"Lewis, fetch a camcorder from the office," he ordered.

He had Lewis, Burns and Eric in with him. All good men. All men who knew how this worked, knew how to be discreet, so he was hardly surprised when they all stared at him in shock. He was mildly surprised when Lewis chose to question him in front of their 'guest'.

"Uh, boss, are you sure?" Lewis asked, and immediately quailed under Terry's glare.

He permitted himself an internal smile at the reaction. Surely that would give Mr Marsh something to think about. "I'm sure," was all he said though. A single recording was easily destroyed. He would be careful. But there were a few things he wanted Tess to understand.

He stood staring at Marsh while he waited, and Marsh stared back, like a rabbit caught in headlights. This had to be the worst day of his life, and Terry had every intention of making sure it got worse.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, his voice deceptively gentle, once Lewis was back and the camera was running.

"Uh, yes, sir, I do, sir," Marsh stammered, licking his lips nervously. "Listen, I think there's been some sort of mistake - "

" - you've been seeing Ms Halliday, haven't you?" Terry cut in. "You were watching us at dinner the other night."

He was satisfied to see the other's eyes widen dramatically. It had been a guess, but a logical one. And Tess had said she hadn't known him.

Marsh swallowed hard. "It's not like that," he whined. "It's nothing like that, I swear. I know Tess from way back - "

Terry gave a nod and Eric stepped forwards quickly, burying his fist in Marsh's stomach. Marsh stopped talking, with a soft, surprised, oof sound, folding up immediately.

"Oh, God, oh, God, please don't hurt me," he whimpered. "I didn't do anything, I swear it, _please."_

"I'm afraid," Terry said pleasantly with a quick sideways glance at the camera. "That you need a quick lesson in respect. I want you to understand the consequences of acting against me." The look of absolute helpless terror on Marsh's face gave him a dark thrill and he permitted himself a smile. "Eric? Continue, please."

He let the beating go on for a few moments and Marsh reacted satisfactorily, whimpering pathetically at each punch. They kept it off the face for the most part - maximum impact with minimum chance of permanent consequences, after all - but a couple of stray punches had blood flowing pathetically from Marsh's mouth and cheek. He directed Lewis to zoom in on it, especially when Marsh looked up at him beseechingly, his eyes watery, as though he was going to start crying any moment. "Mr Benedict...Mr Benedict, sir, _please._"

He held up a hand and Eric stopped at once. "I'm sorry?" he said with mock solicitude. "There was something you wanted to say to me?"

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," Marsh burbled wildly. "I just...you have to understand, I didn't do anything, I never even...I just wanted a job!"

"I beg your pardon?" He blinked, startled at the unexpected leap in logic.

"I just wanted a job," Marsh repeated with a hint of sullen defiance, that immediately crumbled to nothing in the face of the glare Terry turned on him. "Sorry, sir. You see, I knew Miss Halliday a few years back...we weren't together, or anything. She wouldn't give me the time of day, but we were friends, at least, and I heard she was with you now, and I thought maybe she could put in a good word for me."

His lip curled. "Really," he said sarcastically, but at the same time, the ridiculous story had the ring of truth to it. "You were just trying to talk her into getting you a job."

Marsh nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir, that's right, sir."

He took a quick couple of steps forwards and made a point of towering over Marsh, who immediately shrank back in his chair. "And did you try and talk her into anything else?" he asked softly.

"N-no," Marsh said, shaking his hand frantically. "No, of course not."

He nodded thoughtfully and then backhanded Marsh across the face as hard as he could. The shriek was gratifying, and the look of abject terror more so. "Lying to me is a very bad idea, Declan."

"I...I might have suggested...but it was just a joke!" Marsh stammered. "Oh, god, please don't hurt me anymore. Please don't hurt me. Nothing happened, I swear it. She said she's with you! She said she'd never! She said I disgusted her!"

Hmm. That was good to hear. It seemed he'd misjudged this situation somewhat. "Well, we agree on that at least," he murmured. He sighed and stood up straight. "Alright. Take care of Mr Marsh some more, and then throw him out the back door," he instructed his men. "And have him blacklisted. I don't want to see him around here again."

"Wait!" Marsh exclaimed, as he started towards the door. "Uh, Mr Benedict sir? About that job..."

_What? _Slowly he turned back around and stared. "You cannot be serious."

There was that stubborn look again. "I need a job. And I'm a good worker."

It was an almost amusing concept. "And what do you do?" he asked with a thin veneer of politeness.

"I'm an executive personal assistant," Marsh said, with an odd pride. "I'm efficient, I'm reliable, I'm observant...often I know more about my employers business than they know themselves."

"Really." His patience was wearing thin, especially in the face of such a ridiculous claim. "You've been staying here a few days, correct?"

Marsh nodded uncertainly.

"Plenty of time to observe," he commented with a tight smile. "Why don't you tell me three things about my business that I don't already know?"

For a moment Marsh just gazed at him with his mouth hanging open.

"As I thought," he said scornfully.

"Your housekeeping staff on floor twenty don't bother topping up the minibar," Marsh said rapidly. "The bar staff on the main floor are only ringing up nine drinks out of ten and stealing the difference. The floor manager moved blackjack table eighteen further away from the cage and now there's a clear run between the table and the door. The head chef in Sensi has an offer to be Tom Cruise's private chef and he's seriously thinking of taking it." He pointed straight at Burns. "He's selling information to Willy Bank."

Terry could only stare.

Marsh licked his lips nervously. "Did...did I get three things, sir?"

Truthfully, he hadn't known any of that. But more to the point...He turned and stared at Burns. "How did you know that?" he asked Marsh calmly.

Burns' face darkened. "He's lying!" he exclaimed, with just a little too much vehemence to be convincing. "The little weasel's making it up!" He strode forwards and punched Marsh hard in the face sending him sprawling to the floor.

"Enough!" Terry ordered imperiously.

Burns took no notice, kicking Marsh where he lay on the floor in a gibbering heap.

"I said enough!" Terry said again, and with a nod, he had Eric and Lewis pull Burns back.

"Oh, thank you Mr Benedict," Marsh babbled, crawling along the floor on his belly to where Terry was standing. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He was actually kissing Terry's shoes.

Lip curled, he stared down at the pathetic figure. He was disgusted, and yet at the same time there was something darkly fascinating about it. That thrill of absolute control. He was enjoying this so much more than he should.

"How did you know that," he asked again calmly, not telling the man to get up.

"I, uh, I overheard a phone call?" Marsh stammered, looking up at him as though fearful to make eye contact. "He was...he was talking about poaching your high rollers."

The offer Bank had beat him to. Burns had been at that meeting, he remembered. And now that he came to think about it, there had been a few other meetings and a few similar leaks. And he didn't even need to think about it, because the expression on Burns' face condemned him immediately. "Get out," he said shortly. "Leave your pass in the office and get out. I don't expect to ever see you in any of my hotels again."

Now Burns' face showed pure relief. He'd been expecting to spend time in this room himself, Terry knew. But that wouldn't get the message to Bank in quite the way Terry wanted. That would need to come later.

"As for you," he said, looking down at Marsh. "I'll give you a trial. You start tomorrow." He smiled coldly. "Come by first thing. I'll introduce you around." He'd introduce him to Tess, and he could already imagine the look on her face. He'd come up with some humiliating tasks for Marsh to perform. Make sure Tess really understood who was on top.

"Thank you, Mr Benedict, sir," Marsh said, smiling inanely. "You won't regret it, I promise."

Honestly, he had no intention of keeping Marsh around for long enough to regret it. This was just a temporary measure until he could fill the position permanently. "See that I don't," he said.

Marsh stood up, gasping with pain as he did so, and held his hand out for Terry to shake. "It'll be an honour to work for you, sir," he said.

Terry glanced down at the bloody hand and made no move to touch it.

"Sorry, sir," Marsh said awkwardly, rubbing his hand on his suit jacket, and then raising his other hand to wipe some of the blood from his face.

With a frown, Terry noticed something strange. Marsh's sleeve was torn, and below it he could see a tattoo running up the length of his arm. That seemed somewhat out of character.

Marsh noticed him looking, and covered it selfconsciously. "You, uh, you don't have a rule about tattoos, do you?" he asked uneasily. "I'll have it covered all the time, I promise. I got it a few years ago...you know how it is...my girlfriend at the time said it would make me look tougher."

Lewis snorted with laughter behind him.

"It doesn't work," Terry told him without cracking a smile.

"Yessir," Marsh agreed. "May I go now, sir?"

"Yes," he decided. "And Declan? If you ever tell anyone what happened in this room, you'll be right back here so fast it will feel like someone stuck a rocket up your ass. And that will only be the very start of your problems, do you understand me?"

Judging by his wide, terrified eyes, Marsh understood him perfectly. He raised an eyebrow and stood aside, and Marsh nodded jerkily and darted out of the room. Eric followed, ready to escort him out the back door.

He permitted himself a smile. This was turning into an altogether better day.

"Mr Benedict?" Lewis had his finger to his ear. "That was Alphonse, on the door. He says that they just intercepted Ms Halliday trying to leave on her own. She's been taken back to your suite now."

Tess had tried to leave? His smile faded. He would have to explain to her again the necessity of her bodyguards.

Face expressionless, he nodded. "I believe I will join her there for lunch," he said. "Have that tape converted to DVD and send it up to my suite as soon as possible."

He hoped, for Tess' sake, that she had just been planning on going shopping.


	29. The Benedict Job 13

**A/N: Been a while for this story. Hope everyone still remembers it.**

* * *

><p>Tess kept her head held high and tried her best to pretend that the man walking beside her with the visible gun was just walking her back to her room. No matter how she tried, she couldn't quite make herself believe it. And judging by the quick, curious glances she got from people they passed in the hallways, no one else was convinced either. Or maybe that was for the bump on her head. It was bruising now, she could tell.<p>

She tried not to make it too obvious, but all the time she was searching the halls, looking for Danny or Rusty. And that was just silly, because she didn't even know what they could do, she just knew she was frightened and embarrassed. At the same time, there was a part of her that was desperately hoping she wouldn't see them. Because she'd walked away from both of them, one after another, and she'd told herself she didn't need any help - particularly _their _help. She'd wanted to save herself.

Look how well that had worked out.

They reached the door of Terry's suite. "Here you go, Miss Halliday," her escort rumbled.

"Thank you, Alphonse," she said graciously, because what else could she do but keep up the pretence, and she opened the door and stepped quickly inside, closing it firmly, just in case he thought about following.

He didn't. But, as she leaned back against the door, she didn't hear any footsteps walking away either, and she peeked out the peephole to see him standing there, on guard.

She was a prisoner. She gave a short incredulous laugh at the absurdity, and quickly clapped her hands over her mouth, afraid he might have heard her, afraid he'd tell Terry.

She was a prisoner. It was ridiculous. She'd just walked down towards the main door, and she'd made to walk straight past security without even thinking about it - she was the owner's girlfriend, after all. Why would she be challenged?

Except she had been. They'd been polite - apologetic, even - but they'd made it very clear that they couldn't let her out without an escort, and they'd offered to phone Terry, to let her talk to him, and then when she'd declined, they'd had Alphonse walk her upstairs.

Maybe the worst part of it was that she'd just stood there and nodded and acted like all of this was perfectly reasonable. Maybe if she'd screamed, made a fuss and accused them of kidnap, maybe they'd have had to let her go. Terry wouldn't want the publicity, after all. But at the time she hadn't thought of it and now...now, she knew that she probably didn't have it in her to act like that anyway.

So here she was. Trapped, and waiting for Terry. They'd have called him, she knew. Told him that she'd tried to leave and after last night...she could only imagine the anger.

Her hands were shaking.

It was about half an hour before Terry appeared. She'd managed to sit down on the sofa with a cup of coffee and a book, concentrating on looking entirely nonchalant, like there was nothing wrong at all. He'd ask where she'd been going and she would say that she'd been going shopping. As simple as that. She'd lived with some truly brilliant liars in her time; please let some of it have rubbed off.

But when Terry pointedly locked the door behind him and then stood there for a long moment, just looking at her, she couldn't stop the fear rushing through her. This felt too much like last night. She couldn't go through that again so soon, she just _couldn't. _

"Is everything alright, Terry?" she asked, trying to sound vaguely concerned. "Y-you're not normally back at this time."

He didn't answer the question. "So," he said softly, walking further into the room. "You lied to me."

She jumped, not quite sure what he meant. And there was something in his voice...he wasn't as angry as his words suggested, and that reminded her of something...someone...but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "Lied? I...I don't know what you mean." She winced inside, her voice sounded weak and unconvincing. She had to do better than this, because if she didn't...she remembered what Danny had said about what Terry did to people who crossed him. Somehow, she couldn't convince herself that she'd be immune to that.

His lip curled. "Please. The man in the restaurant. You said you didn't know him. And yet you visit him in his hotel room. Don't you find that a little strange?"

Her heart stopped beating. Rusty. Oh, God, he knew about Rusty. The wild words were on the tip of her tongue - she wanted to beg Terry not to hurt him, to let him go, that she'd do anything he wanted if he only left Rusty alone. And yet...

She bit her tongue, choking the words back with a monumental effort, forcing herself to calm. Terry wasn't as angry as she'd expect. She thought about John, every time he'd accused her of looking at another man - there was no comparison to be made. So, somehow, she didn't think Terry was jumping to the obvious conclusion.

In a split second she made her decision and she could only pray it was the right one. She ducked her head. "I didn't recognise him in the restaurant. It was only after..." She trailed off, sounding ashamed.

"You recognised your old friend." Terry finished her sentence the way he so often did. He wanted to tell her what to think. Now was the time to make use of it. "And he asked you to intercede with _me, _to get him a job."

Oh, God. He must have talked to Rusty already. And Rusty had spun a lie to keep her out of trouble and of course Terry had bought it, because it was Rusty and everyone did, but now _she _had to keep that going and she didn't know how and she didn't know what he'd said, but if she failed...

"I...I felt sorry for him," she said, rushed and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Terry. I know I should have told you. I just wanted to hear him out, at least."

She'd spent months listening to Rusty talk, listening to cons and plans and jobs and lies. And now she had to turn theory into practice. Because both their lives might depend on it.

"You felt sorry for him," Terry repeated and for some reason it seemed to amuse him. "Yes. He was rather pitiful, wasn't he?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to go too far into specifics, but her mind was racing. Pitiful? Rusty? What part had he been playing?

"And afterwards?" he asked softly. "Alphonse told me you were trying to leave without an escort. You know I can't allow that, Tess. I'm an important man. I have enemies. I would hate to see something happen to you."

A cold shiver ran up her spine. Terry had given her that speech many times before. She wondered just how beaten down and...and _numb_...she'd let herself get that she hadn't been affected by the threat. But she just smiled apologetically. "I just forgot, Terry, I'm sorry," she said. "It was silly...I just wanted to get some fresh air and maybe grab a coffee somewhere outside the hotel and just sit and read. It's been a while since I was outside for any length of time. You know I never like making your men sit and wait on me. I know they all have better things to do."

He studied her for a long time, looking for the lie, and she met his eyes, trying not to give anything away except apology and confusion. He'd expect her to be nervous - she was always nervous - but she mustn't be terrified.

At long last he nodded. "Of course," he said. "I understand. Perhaps I'll schedule some time at the weekend for...just sitting. You can bring your book and I'll bring my PA and get some work done in the fresh air."

"Oh, that sounds lovely," she said, trying to sound upbeat and enthusiastic and everything she might have felt two days ago if Terry had suggested something so thoughtful.

(_Was it thoughtful? Once upon a time she'd had a man's full attention whenever she wanted it. And she didn't know if she was thinking about Rusty or Danny, she just knew that right now she mustn't think about either of them._)

"Now," Terry went on. "Back to Declan Marsh." She narrowly avoided asking 'Who?'. "I can see why you might think I'd want to hire him," Terry said thoughtfully, his eyes fixed straight on hers. "After all. I do have a history of giving jobs to people I feel sorry for, don't I?"

Oh. She couldn't hide the flinch. And she wanted to object, to point out that he'd specifically told her that he was hiring her because she was talented, but that wasn't the argument they were having right now, and what mattered was making sure that Terry didn't have any reason to think either she or Rusty had lied.

"I'm sorry," she said meekly, hanging her head submissively, the way he liked. "I told him that I don't have any say in your business. I said I would mention him to you, but I didn't make any promises."

"That's right," he said softly, reaching up and stroking her cheek tenderly, and she forced herself to sigh and lean in to his hand, like she was responding to the affection, like she couldn't imagine the danger. "I respect your opinion, but that's as far as it goes. But still, I have to admit. Your friend has...talents."

Talents? She didn't know why, but she was filled with dread. What had Rusty _done? _She wanted to run and find him, right now.

But that was what had caused this, wasn't it? Terry had said she'd been seen going into Rusty's hotel room. That meant they'd been watching her. They'd seen her and because of her they'd found Rusty.

Terry wouldn't have hurt Rusty, she told herself, fighting desperately to make the thought convincing. Rusty was a great liar, and obviously he'd spun this story to keep them both out of trouble. He'd be fine.

She hadn't felt this afraid since...since the night Rusty had gone back to their house. Since he'd gone missing. Since John had died.

The knock on the door came suddenly, making her jump. Terry didn't seem at all surprised, crossing to the door immediately, pulling it open and exchanging a few short words with whoever was on the other side. She strained her ears trying to listen, but she couldn't catch anything.

Then Terry came back into the room, holding a blank DVD case.

"What's that?" she asked involuntarily.

He just looked at her for a moment, silently making it clear that he had no intention of answering the question just because she'd asked it. "You know," he began instead. "Lately you've seemed...dissatisfied with this relationship."

Dissatisfied. She was tired of being ordered around, tired of being controlled, tired of being afraid. But she was still afraid now, and not just for herself. "Oh, no, Terry, of course not," she breathed, her eyes wide, and inside she winced. That had sounded so fake. Surely he must know she was lying.

If he did, he didn't give any sign of it. "Since that man appeared you've been...distant," he went on. "You stood me up."

"I _am _sorry about that," she said rapidly. "Terry, you know - "

He held up a hand and she quieted instantly, ashamed of her obedience. "You stood me up," he repeated. "You even turned me down."

Not that he'd listened. But this time she kept her mouth shut.

"And now you've been sneaking around behind my back," he said evenly. "Are you unhappy, Tess?"

She shook her head frantically, not trusting herself to speak.

He stepped close to her, trailing his fingers tenderly across her cheek. "I am good to you, am I not? I look after you. Keep you safe. Give you everything you could possibly want?"

There was a well of shame in the pit of her stomach. That much was true. Terry had been good to her. It was just she was so afraid of what would happen when he'd had enough of being good to her. And that might just be today. "I'm sorry," she said, almost inaudibly.

"I know that other men have not treated you so well," he stated. "Is that really what you want to go back to?" His hand slipped down until it was resting against her throat - lightly, very, very lightly, so it wasn't a threat, it _wasn't, _except that it was.

Rusty. She wanted Rusty. She wanted Rusty. She wanted the understanding and the calm and the comfort and the love. Only Rusty had killed John, she reminded herself. Rusty was the one who had ruined everything.

(_If it was John she was having this conversation with, she'd already be bleeding._

"We never talk about that, do we?" Terry pressed on. "Do you miss being beaten? Those scars on your leg - do you really want more?"

She couldn't speak. Terry talked about her past – the abuse - like it was nothing. When Danny had found out, he'd looked at her like it was the end of the world.

While she was still struggling to speak, Terry crossed to the TV and slid the DVD into the player. "I thought you might find this...instructive," he told her with a cold smile. "Sit."

She sat. And a moment later the DVD started playing and she wasn't able to help the gasp of misery. It was some part of the Bellagio she'd never seen before, and Rusty was there, sitting in the middle of the room on a metal chair and somehow, this time, she had no trouble recognising him beneath the wig and the glasses, and the clothes, body language, mannerisms that weren't him. None of that mattered. This was Rusty, and she was afraid.

Terry was a good man. Terry wouldn't hurt him. She tried to tell herself that, but the words sounded tired and unconvincing, and another part of her mind was busy telling her that Terry _would_ hurt him. Terry would hurt him to hurt her, and Terry might just enjoy doing it. And no matter what Rusty had done, no matter what he _was_, she didn't want him hurt. Not on her account. Not at all.

The only way she could stop it would be if Terry didn't think it would hurt her. And she had no idea if she could make that convincing.

All that flashed through her head in an instant. "That's Declan," she said, praying she'd remembered the name right, trying to sound shocked and surprised, but not worried. Not terrified.

"Yes," Terry agreed. "Watch." His eyes were fixed on her face. He was going to be watching her, not the DVD.

On the TV, Terry stepped in front of the camera, circling Rusty like a shark, and Tess could see the fear that was put on, and the tension that wasn't. Oh, God, why was Rusty doing this? But she already knew the answer to that. This was for her.

She watched as Terry began the questions, and in some twisted way, he was doing this for her too. Then, at the first answer Terry didn't like, he gave a signal to someone standing off to the side, and in the next second, Eric barrelled into view and punched Rusty hard in the stomach.

That would have hurt. She _knew _how that would have hurt. She could feel it as clearly as if it was her suffering, and she couldn't hope to stop the soft shriek of dismay. Beside her, Terry made a noise of quiet satisfaction.

This had all already happened. There was no point in begging Terry to make it stop, no matter how much she wanted to. All she could do now was watch, and try and pretend that it didn't upset her because it was _Rusty, _it just upset her because it was violent and awful. Terry would believe that. He had to. Because she didn't know where Rusty was now. This had already happened, but Terry could still have him locked up somewhere, and he was depending on her to make his story stick

But as he started begging Terry not to hurt him, she could feel her eyes burning. It was all an act, but it was an act he hated, and she was watching him humiliate himself...she was watching Terry force him to humiliate himself...and it made her want to scream. She ground her fingernails into her palms as hard as she could. An unfamiliar feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm afraid you need a quick lesson in respect," Terry said on the TV, turning to face the camera and looking straight at her, and when he signalled Eric to continue beating Rusty, when the punches drew blood, and the pretend-pain mingled with the real-pain until she could barely tell which moans were for show and which Rusty was trying desperately to suppress - all that was for her benefit. She was the one being given this quick lesson in respect, and it was supposed to leave her broken down and afraid and desperately obedient. Anything to make sure this didn't happen again. Anything to make sure this didn't happen to her.

It didn't work.

The fury took her by surprise. It was nothing she'd ever felt before, not like this. It was white hot and raging, a living storm of anger, righteous and absolute. _How dare he hurt Rusty? _This was _wrong _and she couldn't stand it. Every new blow was an outrage. And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if she had a gun right now, the temptation would be almost irresistible.

This was how Rusty had felt on the day he'd killed John, she realised. She'd understood love could make you crazy. She hadn't known it felt like this.

She watched on in silence, struggling to take in the details of the story and the job, all her attention focused on Rusty. Oh, Rusty. She wanted to run and find him, wanted to take him in her arms and look after him. If she could just find a way to call Danny. Danny could fix this, she was sure of it.

Terry stopped the DVD as Rusty lay prostrate before him, kissing his feet, and Tess shuddered at the look on his face. She'd been right. He _liked _this. Just like he'd enjoyed himself last night. He liked the power and the control, and she longed to get as far away from him as possible. Not yet. She still didn't know where Rusty was now. She didn't know what else Terry had done, and she remembered the rumours Danny had shared, remembered that Terry's hands had blood on them too.

"Well?" Terry asked coldly.

She forced herself to look at him. Forced the anger and hatred out of her eyes. "W-was that r-really necessary?" she asked, taking care to stutter.

"Yes," he said, his lip curled. "Oh, yes. I take a dim view of people trying to take what's mine." His tone changed. "I only did it for you, Tess. I want to keep you safe. That's what matters to me."

She had to turn away, she just had to. She gazed at the frozen image on screen. "You know, I never realised how small he was," she said, and she hated herself for it, but this was all to keep him - them - safe. "You're right, he really is pathetic. What are you going to do with him, anyway?"

He laughed lightly. "We'll see."

"Oh, Terry." With difficulty, she managed to reach out and run her fingers down his arm, before quickly turning and kissing lightly at his neck, and even that was so much easier than making eye contact. "I know I shouldn't like it, but you were so...masterful."

"Really," he said, sounding pleased. "I'm glad we see eye to eye on these matters." He sighed and moved her lightly away. "Unfortunately, I have to get back to work. I will see you for dinner at the usual time." It wasn't a question.

But she was more composed now and she nodded prettily, her mind racing. "Of course. I thought I might spend the afternoon in the pool. If that's alright with you, of course, Terry?"

"Of course it is," he said, lovingly. "Enjoy yourself." He kissed her goodbye. She kissed him back.

She waited until he'd left the room before letting her head fall forwards into her hands and letting the angry tears fall. Damnit. She'd just sat and watched and done nothing. She hadn't even told him how much he disgusted her, how much she hated him now. And she still didn't know what had happened to Rusty. She had to call Danny. Not from here now. They'd stopped her at the door, there was a good chance they'd be monitoring her phone calls, maybe even watching her through the...they _were _watching her through the cameras, she suddenly realised. That was how they'd known about Rusty. This was all her fault. And oh, God, he'd put on a disguise. He'd k_nown w_hat was coming to happen. That stupid, selfish...

Deep breaths. Okay, she couldn't phone from here, but she'd said she was going down to the swimming pool for a reason. They wouldn't follow her into the changing rooms, after all. And that gave her an advantage. Quickly, she packed up her swimming gear and a few extras and headed downstairs. She'd been expecting to be followed, but she supposed if they were tracking her through the cameras, they didn't even need to.

The changing room was busy, just like she'd been expecting, and she took her time getting undressed, waiting until everyone who'd been there when she'd first walked in was gone. Then she got redressed in a different outfit and added a large fancy hat on top. Not enough to fool anyone face to face, but enough to make them miss her, she thought. She hoped.

For a long moment, she stood in front of the mirror and stared at herself. She had to do something. Rusty was relying on her, even if he didn't know it.

Someone had left their cellphone on the shelf while they turned away to a locker and without hesitating, she swept it into her purse.

There. She was a thief, she was a liar, and she was thinking about murder. No more doubts about whose side she was on.


	30. The Benedict Job 14

**A/N: *gloomy* I am a year older than I was last chapter.**

* * *

><p>The two heavies threw him out the door into the alley with a couple of coarse comments and one last parting kick in the ribs. Fully conscious of being watched, he made a show of lying there for a moment, whimpering piteously. Then he took his time getting to his feet, using the wall to drag himself up by his fingernails. Last thing he wanted was for them to report back to Terry that he might be used to this sort of treatment, that he might not be what he was pretending to be. If everything had gone the way he hoped it had, Danny would have got Tess out of the Bellagio by now, but just in case...well, the just in case was too much to risk.<p>

Besides. Being on the inside with Terry would come in handy. Wasn't like all their plans for Terry would be abandoned if Tess was safe. Kinda the opposite in fact.

With a sigh, he started limping down the alley, careful not to even glance at the men following him. Over the past year he'd got used to not reacting to pursuit. And these guys were barely more than amateurs. Easy to lose, but he'd have to lose them without them realising it was deliberate.

Most likely Terry had set them on him to be sure he didn't go to the cops and he didn't go anywhere near Tess. Well, he didn't have any intention of going near either. Instead he headed to the hospital. He wasn't hurt anywhere near bad enough to need a doctor, but he figured they'd figure Declan Marsh might just figure different. And the ER would be busy, but they wouldn't risk going inside. Easy.

He slipped inside and waited patiently in line until the bored nurse gave him some forms to fill in. He wrote down Declan Marsh's details, adding a postal address in Philadelphia, a disconnected phone number and a lack of health insurance. Should all fit into the story, if Terry decided to check. And with a waiting time of over three hours, he doubted anyone would be surprised if Declan Marsh chose not to hang around until he was seen. And that meant that all he had to do was wait until the doors were open and slip purposefully through the corridor into the main hospital. Then it was just a question of finding a door as far from ER as he could, and wandering out.

There. Now he was free of his tail, and ready to start figuring out what the hell happened next?

Automatically he found his way to the nearest cheap motel and bought a room and silence. Something else he'd got used to over the past year.

In the grimy bathroom he carefully pulled off the wig and glasses and laid them down. He'd need them later. He grinned sardonically at his reflection in the mirror. From victim to murderer in one easy step. The smile faded and he leaned forwards, gazing at himself searchingly. Even through the blood, his eyes were cold and cruel. Made him wonder how Terry had missed it. But then, the coward was a role he played so well. Shame crept up his spine. It was an act, he knew, but it had felt real, and Terry had enjoyed every second of it.

With a sigh, he stripped to the waist and began washing away the damage with a grubby towel. It wasn't so bad, really. Once the blood was washed away there was really nothing but a few large bruises, a couple of cuts and angry gashes where the skin had split. Apparently screaming and whimpering and pleading for mercy was more effective than he'd always thought. (_He could still taste the rancid mix of dirt and sweat and boot polish._) With a snarl he threw the towel away against the wall and dug his phone out of his pocket, turning it on and closing his eyes as it immediately began to whistle shrilly at him with all the messages he'd missed.

Everyone knew now. He had no doubt of that. Livingston, Frank, Basher, Linus...they'd all been in the room. They'd all heard. And they were his friends, but he still had no doubt they were going to feel the need to pass it on, especially since he was still technically missing. For his own good, of course.

Saul. Oh, God, Saul was going to find out what he'd done, and that was the last thing he wanted. Funny. He didn't regret it, but he still wanted Saul to think he was better than that. He was a coldblooded killer. It wasn't what they were supposed to be about. It wasn't what Saul had taught them.

An image of John rose up in his mind. Angry, domineering, drunk and out of control. His fist clenched. He had to do it over again, he'd do the exact same thing. And he'd _enjoy _it. So what the fuck did that make him?

(_He didn't even let himself think about Danny._)

For one wild moment, he considered just not going back. As long as he knew Tess was safe - that everyone was safe - he could just...go. Just vanish, like he had before. He grinned to himself again, and out of the corner of his eye, it looked like his reflection was laughing at him. A hell of a way to get out of having the conversations he didn't want to have.

No. He wasn't going to do that. He'd made his choices and now he had to live with the consequences.

Fuck. He had to make sure no one _else_ had to live with the consequences. Grabbing his phone up quickly, he started writing a text.

_Consider my room burned. Caught up with something, will explain tonight. Avoid the room. R._

There. He sent it to everyone and grimaced, as his phone started ringing a second later, and he got five texts at once, all worried, all demanding answers. He stumbled out of the bathroom and dropped the phone onto the spindly table like it was poison, slumping down on the bed and staring at it blankly.

He really didn't know what to do now. His need to protect Tess had carried him along this far, just as it had a year ago, but the next part? The next part and he was out of ideas.

He wondered if Danny had talked to the others yet. Wondered if Danny knew how he'd betrayed him.

As if in answer to his thoughts, his phone chimed again, and drawn by a feeling of inevitability, he stood and peered down at it, hesitating to even touch it. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to see Danny's name, or the message. _We need to talk. Where are you?_

Short. Curt. To the point.

He closed his eyes; Danny knew.

With hands that carefully didn't tremble, he sent a reply back. The address and room number, that was enough. Then he sat back and waited. For the first time in his life, he was awaiting Danny's arrival with dread. He wondered if Danny felt the same way.

The knock at the door came so quickly that he almost wondered if Danny had been standing outside already.

He took a deep breath. Composed himself as best he could "'s open," he called unconcernedly.

There was a long, cold moment before Danny slowly pushed the door open and walked in. For a second he just stood and looked at Rusty, and the sharp intake of breath told him that the bruises hadn't gone unnoticed.

The door slammed shut, making them both jump. He stared at Danny. For once in his life, he couldn't think of a damn thing to say, and Danny's eyes...he didn't know what Danny was thinking. He didn't _know._

Then Danny walked across the room and reached out and pulled Rusty up and gathered him into his arms, hugging him tightly.

Rusty tensed. They both felt it.

"Thank you," Danny whispered in his ear regardless.

For a long moment he just hung there, unresisting, but unable to return the embrace. "For what?" he asked at last, his voice hoarse.

"Tess," Danny said simply, and there were a thousand emotions running beneath his voice, and none of them were simple.

Oh. He shivered slightly. He understood. "She told you about John."

"John," Danny said slowly, like he was tasting the name, and this at least he hadn't known. "She told me."

And there was a world of hurt there, on top of the grief and the fury and the pain, because Tess had told him, and Rusty hadn't. Not now and not then. He broke free of Danny's arms and turned swiftly away. "I promised I wouldn't tell you," he said. "She made me promise."

And they both knew that was only half the story. Because he'd kept the promise too. Even though he knew Danny needed to know, deserved to know, even though, once upon a time, his loyalty to Danny would have overrode everything else...he'd kept the promise.

"Yeah," Danny said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Yeah." There was a pause, and when he spoke again, it was hushed and afraid, full of dread and torment. "How...how bad was it?"

A picture flashed into his mind of Tess two years ago, broken in more ways than one, hurt and hurting, flinching at his every move. "Bad," he said shortly. "It was bad. He hurt her."

"And you saved her," Danny said quietly.

He'd certainly tried, but look how that turned out. And he remembered how it had felt to be with Tess, remembered the love and the laughter, and he couldn't look Danny in the eyes.

Danny looked at him. "You think I'm not grateful?" he asked, his voice rising. "You think I wouldn't rather she was safe with you than with that...with that..." He broke off with a shudder.

"I _know,_" Rusty said intensely. "And we're not...we didn't..." He didn't finish. He knew Danny knew what he meant, just as surely as he knew Danny knew that wasn't the end of the story. Some lines start so much further back than sex.

And still, for a second, there was relief on Danny's face before it twisted immediately into self-loathing. "I should have been there," he said. "Fuck, this is all my fault. I drove her straight into his arms."

"No," Rusty objected immediately. "You didn't plan on any of this. You didn't know you'd get caught. You had no way of knowing what had happened."

"I got careless," Danny said, not looking at him. "I ruined her life."

He'd thought so, sometimes, in the dead of night. Only now it was Danny saying it, he felt so, so sorry. So, so ashamed. Hesitantly, he reached out and placed a hand on Danny's shoulder, squeezing gently, and Danny sighed and tilted his head, pressing his cheek against Rusty's hand, just for a second. There were so many things he wanted to say, and the trouble was, now there was nothing stopping him, he didn't know how to begin. "You saw her?" he asked instead, taking refuge in the practical. "She say what she was going to do?" With every fibre of his being, he willed her to have left Terry for good.

"Yeah," Danny nodded, stepping away from the physical comfort in an instant. "She said she was going to go to LA to stay with a friend."

"Kat," Rusty said immediately, with a sigh of relief. "That's good. Kat's safe. You'd like her, actually."

Danny's lips twisted humourlessly. "Doubt she'd like me," he said lightly.

Possibly not. Kat would just see Tess' ex husband. He sighed. "I'll give her a call later," he suggested. "Make sure she knows to expect Tess. Ask her to let me know when she arrives."

Danny nodded. "Sounds good," he said before his tone shifted abruptly. "Now," he said, reaching out until his hand was hovering less than an inch from Rusty's swollen cheek. "What the hell happened?"

He shrugged and jerked his head away irritably. Nothing he wanted to talk about. Nothing he wanted Danny focusing on. "Terry's made me his new PA," he said instead. "Figure we'll be able to use that."

Danny's eyes weren't amused. "Don't think this is part of the normal interview process," he said, unexpectedly grabbing the bottom of Rusty's shirt and pulling it aside, letting out an involuntary gasp at the bruising below. "Rus' - "

" - they saw Tess going into my room," he interrupted quickly. "Terry...leapt to some conclusions." The exact same conclusions that Danny leapt to, and he could see the pain of that cross Danny's face. He looked away. "I couldn't be sure Tess was going to leave him. Couldn't be sure what he'd do if she didn't. Figured that if I could make sure he'd already got out his anger on...someone else...and if I got him convinced that Tess was completely innocent, then it wouldn't be too bad if she did go back."

There was silence and after a second he looked up. Danny's eyes were wild and unblinking, focused on him absolutely.

"Don't give me that. I had to protect her," he said harshly.

"It's not - " Danny began, and Rusty shook his head fiercely.

" - that's not your call to make," he said. He tugged his shirt down, making sure everything was covered. "We both know you wouldn't rather this was Tess, right now. So that's just the way it is."

"I don't want it to be either of you," Danny said at once.

He smiled humourlessly. "Sometimes that's not the choice you get."

There was another long moment of silence. Danny gazed at him sadly. "This is what I meant, Rus'," he said at last. "You've changed."

He snorted. "You think I wouldn't have done this before?" he asked.

"Oh, you would have done it in a heartbeat," Danny agreed readily. "But you would have let it hurt." He turned away hastily from the grief and sorrow in Danny's eyes, but that didn't stop him hearing. "You would have known it hurt _us_. You would have let me in."

Truthfully, he wasn't even sure he knew how. And he did know Danny was hurting, and that did hurt, and still he just couldn't...he just couldn't.

"Take it you saw Frank and Linus," he said, his voice steady. Frank had wanted to tell Danny, he knew. Frank had been disappointed in him. And Linus...well, Linus was dazzled.

"They were worried," Danny said, choosing his words carefully, and Rusty guessed that it hadn't just been those two. He hadn't expected anyone to keep it secret. He hadn't _asked _anyone to keep it secret. "You killed that bastard, didn't you?"

"John," he said with a strange insistence. "His name was John. And I murdered him."

Danny reached out and grabbed his arm. "What _happened_?"

He shrugged the hand off irritably and looked Danny straight in the eyes. "Not much to tell. He tracked us down. I got Tess away, then went back. He was waiting. Said a couple of things I found...objectionable. I lured him away to a deserted spot - he was drunk, it was easy. Then I shot him twelve times, reloaded, and shot him some more."

"Rus'..." Danny's voice was soft and pained and strangely gentle.

He didn't want to hear it. "He deserved to die, Danny! I'm not sorry. I don't regret it. And I know you think it's _changed _me or whatever, but it doesn't bother me." The smell of blood and gunpowder was close around them, making him feel sick inside. He could see the look in John's eyes as he fell, could see the look in his eye _after. _He dug his fingernails into his hand so hard he drew blood. "It doesn't bother me at all."

He couldn't stand seeing Danny look at him for one second longer. He turned away quickly, stumbling as his legs gave way, and somehow he was on the floor and Danny's arms were tight around him and Danny's lips were pressed against his forehead. "'s okay. It's okay. I'm here, and we'll get through this."

Somehow, he was sobbing against Danny's chest, little whispered confessions of what he'd done, and all the nightmares he'd had the past year spilling out of him. He'd been alone. He'd been a murderer and he'd been alone.

Danny held him impossibly closer. He wasn't alone anymore.

On some level, he was almost amused by how little it took him to break down in the end. He'd spent the past year forcing himself not to think about it, telling himself that what he'd done didn't affect him, that it didn't _matter _to him. He'd built walls around the deed and buried the memories as best he could, and in the end one word, one _look _from Danny and that had all come crashing down.

It hurt. It hurt, and it had changed him, and he wasn't sure he could live with that.

When the tears finally stopped, he leaned against Danny's shoulder, shaking slightly, his fingers entwined with Danny's while Danny's arm was draped protectively around him.

"What happened after?" Danny asked quietly.

After. His mind cut to kneeling next to John, the knife in his hand, and then the boat ride, and he shuddered.

"No!" Danny said quickly. "I mean after that. With Tess." He swallowed awkwardly. "With you and Tess."

Oh. He stared down at the floor for a moment, tracing the edges of the cigarette burns in the carpet. "I told her."

"You told her?" Danny sounded disbelieving.

He shrugged, his hand rubbing against his mouth automatically. "When she came away with me the first time, I promised her I wouldn't lie to her. I haven't."

"Oh." Danny's voice was soft and small and distant.

He winced. "I'm - "

" - yeah," Danny cut in tiredly. "Me too."

"Thing is," he went on awkwardly. "It turned out there were some people looking for John. They found Tess. I had to leave to keep her safe." And look how that had turned out. He'd driven her straight to Terry Benedict.

Danny was looking at him intently. "You kept her safe?" he asked softly, and he reached up and traced his thumb along the bruise on Rusty's cheek. "Like you did this time?"

"Something like that," he admitted. "I had to keep them interested. Had to keep them away from Tess."

"But they're not a problem now?" Danny frowned, the disquiet growing on his face. "Rus' - "

" - I didn't kill them, Danny," he interrupted harshly, but he couldn't blame Danny for wondering. Not least because... "I thought of it," he admitted, dropping his head into his hands. "I considered..." He shivered. "Maybe I _am _a monster," he said, his voice muffled.

Danny grabbed his chin and pulled his head up. "Look at me," he ordered, and then he leaned forwards and pressed his lips gently against Rusty's, and the kiss was strength and sorrow and love absolute. "You're not," Danny whispered. "I promise."

Tess had said he was.

"I would have killed him," Danny said a second later, his voice still and cold.

Rusty already knew that. He knew how Danny felt about the people who had hurt _him; _impossible to think he would feel anything less for the man who had hurt Tess so much worse. And maybe, probably, Rusty or Tess herself would have been there to talk Danny back from the brink, and maybe, probably, they would have found other options, other means to make sure that John never hurt Tess again...but maybe not. And either way, he had taken that opportunity away from Danny. He had robbed Danny of his chance at revenge. Justice. And he knew somewhere below everything else Danny was feeling, Danny was angry with him for that.

"I don't know what's going to happen next," Danny said, with a deep breath. "I'm not gonna lie and say I'm not..."

Angry. Upset. Hurt. Uncertain. Yeah. Rusty felt all of that too.

"But I don't want to lose you," Danny went on in a whisper. "I'm not going to lose you. I want you safe. I want Tess safe."

He nodded. "And we want to make sure Terry gets what's coming to him," he added savagely.

"Oh, yes," Danny agreed with a cold smile. "Think we should figure out some new plans for..." He stopped, his eyes widening. "Rus'...Terry had her followed to your room, right?"

"Through the cameras," Rusty agreed. "He had her under surveillance." The very thought sickened him.

Danny swallowed hard. "If he's that controlling...what if he doesn't just let her leave? What if he follows her?"

The horror dawned in an instant. Terry could track Tess down just as easily as John had. Easier, in fact, because Terry had so many more resources than John ever had, and Tess would be travelling under her own name. He could find her, and he could bring her back.

"We have to catch up with her," Danny said wildly. "We have to make sure..." He broke off as his phone rang suddenly, and he glanced down at it with a frown. "Unknown number," he said tersely, raising it to answer. "Hello...Tess?" Astonishment coloured his voice. Rusty wasn't surprised; he hadn't been expecting that either, and right now it came as sweet relief. "Where are...oh." His face tightened, and instinctively Rusty reached out and took his hand. "You're still in the Bellagio?" he demanded. Oh, fuck no. He'd thought Tess was safe. He'd thought she'd escaped. "No...slow down, Tess...no, he's with me now," he said, glancing at Rusty.

Rusty winced. Terry must have told Tess what he'd done, or worse, maybe he'd shown her.

"He's...okay," Danny said slowly, looking at the bruises on Rusty's face. He flinched minutely at whatever Tess said next. "Are _you _okay?" he asked her, and he nodded, relieved at the answer. "Okay, we can meet you someplace...the roof again?" He looked to Rusty for approval, and Rusty nodded. "The roof," Danny confirmed. "Half an hour. Be careful, Tess, please."

As Danny put the phone down, he looked at Rusty, his face tight with worry and determination. "We've got a problem."

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading, please take a second to let me know what you think.**


	31. One year earlier 5

**A/N: And we're back in the past for probably a couple of chapters. Though as you've probably figured, we're rapidly running out of past to cover. :) **

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><p><em>One year earlier<em>

He leaned back against the railing unconcernedly and, with an effort, managed to avoid watching Tess walk away. She'd be fine. She'd be _fine. _What mattered right now was making sure that the car which had been following her turned its attention to him.

It pulled up to the kerb in front of him, and he made a point of looking wary, standing bolt upright like he was getting ready to run, before the sight of the gun barrel in the window. He winced inside at the sudden realisation that he might have miscalculated, might have misunderstood what was going on here. This could be some friend of John. This could be a straight-up case of revenge, and he could only hope that if it came down to it, if she heard the gunshot, Tess would run.

(_In his heart, he knew she would. But towards him, not away._)

The little man behind the gun smiled. "Now. Who the fuck are you?"

Ah. He gave a hidden sigh of relief. There was nothing there of the madness of grief, the cold storm of fury. This was business, not personal. And he might not know what it was about, but business he could work with. He took a step closer to the car and leaned in, casually scanning the three occupants with the quick, cold curiosity of the professional. "My friends call me Vinnie," he smiled.

"Vinne." The little man nodded. "Well, Vinnie, my name is Bloody Amos - "

"- I doubt that," he interrupted easily.

Amos' beady eyes gleamed with amusement. "You can call me it anyway," he said. "Anyway, Vinnie, it seems as though you can answer a few questions for us. So why don't you get in, and we'll go somewhere more..._comfortable_... to talk."

"'fraid not," he said with a charming smile. "I've got dinner plans already, you know how it is. I'd hate to be late."

With a mock sigh, Amos opened the door, the gun still trained right on him. "Really, Vinnie, this comes down to a simple choice. Either you get in the car and sit beside me like a good boy, or I'm going to have to shoot you and then you'll be travelling in the boot. Which would you prefer?"

"Since you put it like that..." He got in the car and Amos reached over him and pulled the door shut as the car sped off. Away from Tess. He kept the laughter hidden where they couldn't see.

They drove in silence to a run-down apartment block, and he was marched out of the car and up the stairs to the second floor. There were at least three opportunities for escape he might have seized on in other times, but right now, he needed to know what was going on.

"Nice place you've got here," he commented, looking round at the bare floorboards, the mouldy furniture and wrinkling his nose. He crossed to the window and looked out at the alley with the dumpsters below. "Great view."

Amos' silent friends grabbed him, and pulled him back and down into a chair. "It has its advantages," Amos told him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Discreet neighbours," Amos said with a smile. "Now, Vinnie, I asked your lady friend where John Ross was, and she said she didn't know. But she was obviously worried about something, and she led me straight to you. What does that tell you?"

He lounged back in the chair. Alright. He could do this. Right now, both his and Tess' lives depended on him finding a story that they could believe. They were looking for John, and it obviously wasn't for the pleasure of his company. They weren't going to take a simple 'I don't know' for an answer. He had to sell them an act that they _wanted _to believe. "That she's a dumb bitch who needs put in her place?" he suggested with an easy grin, and he didn't let his words touch him. He remembered how it had felt to pull the trigger. That's what he needed here. That coldness.

Amos laughed. "Aren't they all?" he said.

At the encouragement, Rusty leaned forwards. "You know, she actually thought that you really were the police?" he said. "I tell you, she knew anything, I'd be worried." He let the smile fade. "So. Why you looking for Ross?"

"My organisation had an...arrangement with him," Amos said. "Unfortunately, he failed to live up to his end of the deal, and now it seems he has gone missing, along with a great deal of money."

If he knew nothing about this then they'd kill him, and go back to Tess. It was an easy decision. He blinked twice, quickly, and Amos' eyes narrowed. Of course, he didn't know anything about this, but that was a future problem. He gave a low whistle. "Sucks to be you. How much did he take you for?"

"Half a million dollars," Amos said, watching him through narrowed eyes.

Enough that it mattered. Enough that they weren't going to give up easy. "Nice if you can get it," he said with a knowing grin. "So. I'm guessing you thought Ross' ex honey was a good place to start, huh? Great minds think alike. Too bad for you, I got there first."

"She knows where John Ross is?" Amos demanded sharply.

He shrugged, and examined his nails. "She did," he corrected them.

Amos surged forwards, grabbing him by the arms, his nails digging in. Obviously his patience was wearing thin. "And just who do you work for," he hissed, his breath foul in Rusty's face.

He shrugged again. "Not particularly important," he said. "Let's just say my client is someone Ross had...terminally offended, if you know what I mean. You want that money back, I'm afraid you're shit out of luck."

With a sigh, Amos shoved him hard, and he felt the chair tilt precariously before it thudded back down. "I'm afraid the people I work for would not find that acceptable," he observed. "I'm sure you understand. So. Your client - "

" - isn't interested in your pocket change," he said with a laugh. "His problem with Ross had nothing to do with money." The money was what mattered here. That's what they were focused on, and that's what he could use to keep them away from Tess. "You might as well just let me go and go toss Ross' place."

Amos looked at him thoughtfully. "Your client might not be interested, but how about his hirelings, hmmmm? It occurs to me that a man like John Ross, facing death...he might be willing to offer anything to escape. And a clever man might just take what he was offering and kill him anyway. And, Vinnie, I believe you are a very clever man."

He waited just a fraction of a second too long before answering. "Nice fairy story. You just make that up now?"

Amos smiled broadly, and without warning swung his gun hard, smashing it right across Rusty's face. For a moment the world was drowned in red, as the blood spurted up, and he leaned forwards, gasping, his eyes watering with the pain.

"Where is the money?" Amos demanded pleasantly.

"No idea," he said, raising his head and spitting blood in Amos' face. "So go fuck yourself."

With a disappointed sigh, Amos crouched beside him, grabbing him by the hair and twisting his head sideways. He held his gun up in front of Rusty's face. "You know, Vinnie," he said conversationally. "It might sound strange to a man like you, but I really don't care for guns, you know? They're too clumsy. Inelegant." He dropped his hand over Rusty's face, digging his thumb into the side of his nose, close by his eye, and the pressure on top of the bruises already there made him bite his tongue, fighting to keep the pain inside. "No," Amos said a second later, and the gun had vanished and Amos was holding a switchblade instead. "I much prefer using a knife. Though it does get so very messy." He leaned forwards and whispered in Rusty's ear. "You laughed at my name before. Let me show you how I got it."

"Look," he said, his eyes fixed on the knife, concentrating on sounding like he was concentrating on keeping his voice steady, and Amos' hand tightened in his hair. "I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I don't have your money, I swear it."

Amos laughed. "Why do I have trouble believing you?"

Because that's what Rusty wanted him to believe. Though as Amos slid the knife down his body slowly, slicing his shirt off him, it suddenly didn't seem like the best idea in the world. His breath caught. Tess, he reminded himself. He was doing this for Tess. To keep her safe. But as the knife reached the bottom of his shirt, and Amos leaned it on the waistband of his pants, pressing just hard enough for it to nick his stomach, he could imagine the horror in Tess' eyes, the fury in Danny's.

Not helpful. _Vinnie_ didn't have anyone to care about. Alone, self-sufficient and tough-as-nails. That shouldn't be such a reach, and he wrapped it around himself like armour, staring up at Amos defiantly.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Amos asked in surprise as he pulled Rusty's shirt off, his thumb grazing tenderly over the cut John had given him. "Looks like someone else had the same idea. But this is shoddy work. Strictly amateur." He tsked, shaking his head slowly. "We can do much better than that," he said, and Rusty bit his lip savagely as Amos lightly trailed the knife along the edges of the old cut, first one side, then the other. He could feel the blood starting to trickle down his chest, and he didn't dare look down. It hurt. Oh, fuck it hurt, and it was all he could do to hold still, to not kick out, to not try and get the man and the knife _away _from him. Not yet. This couldn't come too easy.

"That the worst you can do?" he asked with a contemptuous snort that ended in just a _little _hitching gasp of pain. "What you gonna do for an encore? Paper cuts in between my fingers? Oooh, or maybe you'll go with something really painful, like a noogie."

A flash of anger crossed Amos' face, and without a word he pulled his hand back and plunged the knife into Rusty's side.

Rusty screamed.

It took an age of silent, sweating agony before he had to accept that the fire in his side wasn't dying down any. Gritting his teeth, he tried to confront the pain, to get on top of it, live through it. His hand clamped tight against his side, he managed to raise his head.

Amos was watching him through narrowed eyes. "Very good, Vinnie," he approved. "Now, I'm sure you'll appreciate how I missed all your vital organs. There are another eighteen points on the human body I can stab like this without risking you dying accidentally. Of course, eventually you would bleed out, but I'm sure you'll have told me everything by then, won't you?"

He gazed at Amos foggily and said nothing. He had to time this right. He had to make it _real. _

With a sigh, Amos slapped him hard across the face. "Vinnie...what happened to our money?" He shook his head, his lips pressed tight together, and in answer, Amos grabbed his hand and bent the fingers back, his palm exposed. The point of the knife dug in lightly, barely enough to draw blood and a hint of pain, but threatening so much more.

Enough.

"Wait!" he said hoarsely.

Amos stopped, head cocked to one side, waiting patiently.

"'s like you said," he admitted softly. "I used the bitch to get in touch with John. I knew he'd want her back. I didn't know nothing about the money then - _she _had no idea, after all. Who tells a whore something like that? So I get to John, an' I'm all set to kill him, when he tells me about the money. Tells me where it is. I get him to show me, and then I kill him anyway and move the cash somewhere safe."

"Thank you, Vinnie," Amos said with a wide smile. "That wasn't so difficult, was it? Now...where is the money now?"

He swallowed hard, not taking his eyes off Vinnie's. "It's - "

In an instant, he sprang to his feet, grabbing the chair and jumping backwards, brandishing it in front of him as a weapon.

They laughed at him, of course, moving around leisurely as he backed away, circling as they spread out, making it clear they were between him and the door and nothing was going to change that.

And that was just fine with Rusty. He wasn't planning on using the door.

In one easy movement he swung the chair as hard as he could, smashing the window open, and with a terrible cry, he jumped after it, curling tightly in mid air, bracing himself just in time to hit the dumpster below.

For the first time in a while his luck held and the dumpster was mostly full of rotting food and sodden cardboard. Made for a soft landing. Even so he hit hard enough for the shock and pain to reverberate through him, and he instinctively curled tighter, drawing in a deep breath that tasted of mould and grease and foulness. That might have been enough to save him, a second later he heard the sharp sound of a bullet ricocheting off the side of the dumpster, far too close to where he was lying.

Fuck. He risked a glance up, seeing Amos in the window high above, apparently trying to force his friends to follow Rusty down the quick way. Probably not going to happen, but they'd be coming regardless, and he scrambled up and out, shirtless, pants torn and filthy, stained with blood and garbage. He was going to get noticed. But then, he _needed _to get noticed.

He ran as fast as he could, taking a twisty path through streets and alleys, making sure he was seen, not letting himself slow down. They had to chase him. They couldn't catch him. And the pain lurched through him with every step. His side was on fire and his hand was buried deep in blood, and his nose was still bleeding. He was gonna need to do something about all that. Somehow. He couldn't risk going back to the hotel - the room might not be in his real name, but he had things that were, and they found out who he really was, they could find out what he had to lose. (_Saul. Tess. Danny._)

There was money in his wallet, and he grabbed a couple of bills at random and slumped down on a street corner beside a guy begging, an almost-empty vodka bottle beside him. For a second, adrenaline still coursing through him, he just tried to catch his breath. Then he held the bills up and caught the guy's eye. "For your jacket?" he offered.

The guy snatched at the money immediately. "Sure," he said, struggling out of his jacket as fast as possible, just in case Rusty changed his mind.

Thank fuck for greed and desperation. He took the jacket gratefully and handed over the cash without a qualm. After a second's thought, he picked out another couple of bills and nodded to the bottle. "You mind?"

Wonderingly, the guy shook his head. "Go ahead, man," he said generously. "I c'n buy a full one now."

Rusty nodded and grabbed the bottle, pouring half of it straight onto the wound with a grimace. Burned like hell, and he quickly swallowed the rest down, hoping it would be enough to take the edge of the pain. That done, he tore the bottom of the leg of his pants and folded it until he had something resembling a compress, and clamped the cleanest side of it to his side, using his belt to hold it in place.

"There's a hospital two blocks over," the guy offered out of nowhere. "Run by nuns. They don't charge or nothin'"

He grinned. "I'm not the kind of person nuns want to help," he said. He wasn't religious, but he was pretty sure murder was unforgivable by anyone's book. _(Tess couldn't forgive him, after all_. "Thanks, man. Anyone asks, just tell 'em whatever you want. I'll be long gone." That part was a lie, but he didn't want Amos to hurt the guy, and at the same time, if Amos figured out he wanted to be followed, it was game over. This was the best he could do.

He shrugged into the jacket, his nose wrinkling automatically, but really, wasn't as if he exactly smelled like a bed of roses right now. Point was, it would cover him enough for the moment.

Alright. He had to get out of town, and he had to leave a trail that they could follow, not easily but eventually. For a moment he toyed with stealing a car, but eventually he discarded the idea. Last thing he needed was to risk the police getting involved. Instead, he got the cash from his emergency stash in a locker at the station, and headed round to a basement bar in a bad part of town. He took careful note of the looks he was getting - he wasn't half-naked anymore, but he still looked like shit. Naturally, he glared at anyone he caught staring, but inside he was rejoicing. There was enough that anyone here would be able to sell him out when word got around Amos was looking for him. And he figured he was far enough from his normal look that no one who didn't know him would put it together.

He found Rhys Morley in his usual corner booth and managed to work out a deal for a couple of new IDs and a bunch of credit cards. He knew Rhys but Rhys didn't know him, and what he knew was that Rhys made a habit of selling out his clients to the highest bidder, until word got around and he had to move town anyway. About two months back, he'd thought of making Rhys a mark, but in the end he'd regretfully decided that there was too much risk. Too much danger for him to wat to explain to Tess. (_If Danny had been there, he'd have been able to make it work._) Now, of course, that seemed like a good thing.

As he left the bar, he smiled to himself. Way he figured it, a child could trace him to the bar, and from there getting the card details would be as simple as bribing Rhys, and from_ there_...any half-decent investigator could track credit card purchases. Amos had managed to trace John to Tess. He'd be able to follow Rusty. He just needed to be careful when and where he used them.

First things first, and he used the cards to get new clothes, and got freshened up a bit. He felt himself sway in the restroom and gripped the sink tightly. The adrenaline was wearing off. He was exhausted and he'd lost a fuck load of blood, and he wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.

Next he got a nondescript car from a dodgy dealer, and managed to annoy the salesman no end by picking the car right at the back of the lot, and looking over the engine carefully. Least he'd be memorable. Plus, the car shouldn't break down for a month at least, and he'd be driving something else by then.

He drove through the night and into the morning, stopping often for gas, snacks and caffeine pills, making sure to use the credit cards every step of the way. They could follow. They had to follow. But when he finally had to stop, in a little roadside motel in the middle of nowhere, he used cash.

A couple of hours. He needed a couple of hours at least. To sleep, but more than that, he had to have a break to take everything in. And he had to make sure Tess was safe.

He collapsed onto the bed with a groan, unable to stay upright one second longer. Already the blood was showing pink through his shirt, and all he wanted was to close his eyes and sleep for a week at the very least. It _hurt. _

(_Was it worse than being shot, he considered? John hadn't screamed or cried. He'd looked confused when he died._)

Right now, he'd give just about anything to be curled up at home, safe and looked after, and in his mind Danny was next to him, pressed lightly against his shoulder, silent and supportive and strong and _there_, and Tess' eyes were full of love and worry as she held his hand.

No.

No, that was never gonna happen, and he pushed the thought out of his head, scrubbing his hand over his face with a sigh. He had to be tougher than this. He was alone, and that was the way it was going to stay for the forseeable future. Better get used to it.

(_The blankness in John's eyes told him it was all he deserved._)

First things first. He grabbed his phone and dialled the number, and Kat answered after barely two rings.

"Listen," he began. "I need a favour. I need you to - "

" - Rusty, what's going _on?_" she interrupted quickly. "I was meant to meet Tess for lunch, and when she didn't show, I stopped by the house. Tess...she was packing. She said she had to get out of town. I asked her why, but she wouldn't tell me."

He breathed a sigh of relief. If she'd left, it would be that much harder for Amos and his friends to track her down. As long as he could keep them focused on him, he wouldn't need to worry. And still... "Did she say where she was going?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I gave her a lift to the bus station," Kat told him. "I don't think she even knew...she just got on the first bus out of town we saw."

"Did you see where it was going?" he asked.

She hesitated. "Are you going after her?" she asked at last. "She seemed angry. At you, I mean."

Yeah. He imagined she was. "No, I just want to know," he assured her.

"Maybe you should go after her," she said unexpectedly. "I think she was as hurt as she was angry. If you just _talked _to her - "

" - not really an option right now," he said, half rolling over on the bed and biting his lip hard to suppress the moan of pain.

"What did you _do_?" Kat demanded intently.

Something unforgiveable. The silence stretched out.

"Fine. Not like I was expecting you to tell me anyway," Kat said crossly. "The bus was going to Las Vegas. She got a one way ticket."

"Vegas, huh?" He knew people in that town. Reuben sprang to mind immediately. Trustable, generous, compassionate. He could give Reuben a call. Ask him to keep an eye out for Tess. Ask him to look after her. He sighed, admitting to himself that was more about his peace of mind than what Tess would want. She'd hate thinking he was keeping tabs on her, spying on her.

"Is...is this because of what Tess said to you?" Kat asked hesitantly. "About her feelings?"

It took a moment for him to catch up. Of course Tess would have told Kat she'd thought about them getting together. "No," he assured her. "'s nothing like that." Nothing so innocent. "'s a work thing," he lied, reaching up and rubbing his had across his eyes, and as the movement tore at his side, he let out a low hiss of pain.

"Are you alright?" Kat's voice was full of urgent concern.

For a second he struggled to answer, his teeth gritted, his hand clamped against his side. "'m fine," he managed at last. "'s nothing."

"Oh, Blondie," she sighed fearfully. "You need to go see a doctor if you're hurt.

Yeah. Kat might be a friend, but she wasn't one of the people who got to make that call. "I'm fine," he said again stubbornly.

"I'll tell Tess," she threatened. "If she calls," she added in a more subdued voice. "Oh, God, you're both as bad as each other."

He really didn't have a clue what to say to that. And he was just too beat to carry on with this conversation anymore. "See you, Kat," he said, and he hung up over her protests.

He wondered if Tess would call Kat. He hoped so; Kat had been a good friend to her. And fuck knew, she could use one. He wondered if Tess would call him...she might. And the thing was, he knew that if she _did, _and if she asked him what was going on, he would tell her. He'd have to. And still, there was a part of him that wanted her to call more than anything else.

Swearing softly to himself, he banged his head fiercely against the pillow. Stupid.

Alright. He needed to make plans. First thing; he had to make sure Tess was alright. Able to support herself at least, get somewhere to stay at least until she could find a job. Lifting his phone again, he called his bank, checked his balance and asked them to transfer three quarters of it to the account he'd set up for Tess.

"D'you want a note on the payment for the recipient?" the girl asked uninterestedly.

He paused for a second and smiled humourlessly. "Call it alimony," he instructed her and he listened to her typing and hung up as soon as he knew it had gone through.

That should see Tess alright for a year or so at least, if she was careful. And that meant he could turn his thoughts to what to do about Amos. He didn't want anyone else involved in this. He knew it would be easier with help - Saul or Bobby or _someone _- but he didn't want to risk putting them in danger and besides...besides, there was too much chance they might find out what he'd done. If Saul knew he was a murderer, he didn't think he'd ever be able to look Saul in the eyes again. And besides. If he told anyone what was going on, he ran the risk of all this getting back to Danny. And Danny was trapped and far away, and Rusty didn't want him to _know. _Not ever.

So he was on his own. And he could run and keep running, and he could make them chase him, but that only got him so far. He needed some way of getting them to leave permanently.

He could kill them.

The thought took him by surprise at how easy it was, how obvious. It wasn't as if they were good guys. He hadn't figured out just who they worked for yet, but he suspected they had more blood on their hands than he did. Not like the world would miss them. He could kill them, and this whole thing would be over. Easy.

He buried his head in his hands. Easy wasn't the same as right.

The only other way out he could see was if they got what they wanted. Their money back and him dead. And he didn't think he had a hope in hell of finding their actual money, but if they got the same amount back, plus a little more, he figured it wouldn't make any kind of difference.

If he got ahead of them, he could make money for a few days, then send out a signal and cut out when he saw them coming. That was...he could make that work.

So that was going to be his life from now on. Run and keep running. Make money. Stay alone. He could do that.

He fell asleep with his wallet on his chest, the pencil sketch of Danny and the photo of Tess clutched tight in his hand.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading, please review**


	32. Six Months Earlier

**A/N: One more chapter after this one set in the past, and then we'll get back to the Benedict job.**

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><p><em>Six months earlier<em>

He ran. He ran and he kept running, and they kept right on chasing. Most of the time he was able to keep a couple of days ahead, sometimes as much as a week. Sometimes they were right on his tail.

In Baltimore, barely a week after this whole thing had started, they almost forced his car off the road. It was only the unexpected appearance of a cop car that saved him, leaving them both running for the law and forgetting each other, at least for a while. In Austin, he came back from an early breakfast just in time to see Amos' thugs break down the door to his motel room. Their eyes met across the parking lot, and he dived for the nearest car, bullets whistling overhead as he broke the window and jumped inside, no finesse, just about tearing off the bumper as he smashed through the fence and out of the parking lot. In Fresno he spent fourteen hours lying flat in a crawlspace beneath the water boiler, listening to them waiting for him, just on the other side of the wall.

They were always right there. Right behind him. Some days he could barely breathe.

Long as they were still chasing him, they weren't back looking at Tess. He told himself that and it was some measure of comfort. Didn't stop him from worrying about her though. What she was doing, what she was thinking, how she was...and she hadn't called him. Sometimes - oftentimes - as he lay awake in another cheap motel, lying on stained nylon sheets, wondering if it was safe to close his eyes for four hours, wondering if there was any chance of escaping the nightmares if he _did_...sometimes that hurt so bad he could barely bear to think of her. But then he remembered that if she had called, and he had told her everything, they'd have had to run together. She'd have insisted. And that would mean she'd be lying here beside him, and this wasn't the life he wanted for her. Hell, this wasn't the life he wanted for himself.

He looked at his phone everyday, but he never used it. Tess didn't call. Other people did. He'd been away for long enough that people had noticed. Not just Saul, but Frank, Livingston, Basher, Reuben...they all left messages. Texts. Not every day, not even every week, but often enough for him to see the worry.

He texted back something short and cold and reassuring, and deleted every number, just in case. Perhaps it was nice to know he couldn't just up and vanish without someone noticing.

Sometimes he wondered what he'd do if Danny got out. It had been almost four years. If Danny had been being careful...keeping his nose clean...it could happen. And if Danny got out, he would want to find him and he'd want to find Tess, and neither was gonna be easy.

Danny. He missed him more than ever. Somehow, losing Tess had made that first loss all the worse. He felt like half his heart had been ripped away, and now there was just...nothing. Emptiness.

He imagined Danny finding him - finding him, not calling, even if Danny got his number from someone, Danny would want the personal and the face to face - and he couldn't picture how that would go down. He'd promised Tess he wouldn't tell Danny about John, and he wasn't going to go back on his word, no matter what,and that meant he wouldn't be able to tell Danny about Amos. Wouldn't be able to tell Danny why he had to keep running, just that he _did _have to. And it would be impossible to keep Danny out of it - they would see Danny, would assume he was involved somehow, and he didn't want this life for Danny either. No, it would be so much better if Danny didn't turn up until after this was done. Then he could just...never mention it. Pretend none of it had ever happened.

Fuck. He exhaled steadily. Was he really hoping that Danny stayed locked up longer?

There was a soft noise from out in the parking lot and he was sitting up in an instant, already perfectly awake, senses already on overload. Might be nothing. Was probably nothing. But he couldn't take that chance.

He shoved his shoes on, grabbed his jacket and climbed out the bathroom window.

* * *

><p>He worked as best he could. Every time he got more than a day or so ahead, he would spend every second working the shortest long cons he could put together. No prep, no lead time - for the first time in his life, money was the overarching objective. There was a thin line between swift and sloppy, and half the time these days, he wasn't sure which side he was falling on. When all else failed, he would find the local poker players and take them for everything they had, but that was a risk. Card sharps got noticed, and gamblers had loose lips. All it would take would be someone mentioning him, someone else recognising the description, and all of a sudden, Amos could be in proud possession of his real name.<p>

Still. He was making money hand over fist. Already he was over halfway there. And he'd managed to do a little bit of checking, enough to be certain that they were talking about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash. Unmarked and non sequential - his very favourite kind. He figured if they found that, plus a little extra, in a bag somewhere, they wouldn't exactly ask too many questions as to whether it really was the _same _money. 'Course, after all this, they'd still want him dead, but he figured that was a bridge he could cross if he ever came to it.

There was plenty money in Danny's bank accounts. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered it. Not like Danny would begrudge him - maybe even more than when it had been him and Tess. But if he was wrong, if the cash did matter, then they'd trace it back to Danny, and that was everything he was trying to avoid. No, working for it was his only option, and some days he was so tired, his head so full, that just curling up in a corner, waiting for them to find him and getting it all over with was...tempting.

It was on a day like that when he met Casey.

* * *

><p>He'd been driving for fourteen hours, and before that he'd been awake for another twenty four, running three cons at once. On the plus side, he was pretty sure they were at least three days behind him, still searching for him in Portland. He had time enough to work, and maybe even time enough to sleep.<p>

In fact, he probably had time enough to find somewhere better to stay than the grubby little roadside motel with the practically-empty diner. But truthfully, he just didn't care enough to bother. His life had shrunk to work/bed/drive, and nothing else particularly mattered. Lately, on those rare occasions when he bothered turning on the TV or whatever, there was nothing that held his interest, let alone made him smile. Simply put, there was no more fun to be had. And he told himself that was because he was so exhausted, but deep down inside he wondered if maybe he'd managed to kill a piece of himself right along with John.

Fuck, that was melodramatic. He laid his head down on the table and gazed vacantly at the ketchup stain that someone had clearly tried and failed to scrub away. Some things never came clean.

"Evening!" a brash voice rang out above him. "Here's a menu. Want something to drink?"

Blearily, he lifted his head and looked up to see a waiter standing over him, his uniform liberally decorated with badges and pins, his nametag cheerfully proclaiming that his name was Casey. He was gazing at Rusty expectantly, and it took him a second to figure out why.

"Coffee," he managed to say at last.

"Uh huh." Casey's eyes swept over him with slow calculation and, conscious that his suit was rumpled and he'd been wearing this shirt for two days now, Rusty figured that he was trying to work out if he could afford it. Right up until Casey's gaze reached his face, and, eyes fixed on Rusty's, he slowly and deliberately licked his lips. "How do you like it?"

Oh. Oh, that hadn't happened for a while. "Cream and two sugars, please," he said.

"Right." Casey nodded and made a note on his pad. "Hot, sweet and creamy. I bet you do. Be right back."

Rusty couldn't help but watch him walk away. Not his type. Really, truly, not his type. (_And yet...)_

Casey was back within moments, carelessly dropping the coffee cup down onto the table in front of Rusty before sliding into the seat opposite with a bright and happy smile. It had been such a long time since anyone had actually smiled at _him._ "So, you're new in town, right?" Casey asked inquisitively.

He nodded. "Just drove in this afternoon."

"Just passing through." It wasn't a question. "Yeah, this place is a dump," he went on, with a wry, confiding grin. "No point staying longer than you have to."

"I won't be," he said with an uncaring shrug.

Apparently satisfied, Casey nodded and leaned forwards across the table. Making himself look taller, Rusty noted clinically. Making it look like he was just on the very edge of pushing himself into Rusty's space. "That's good," he said, dropping his voice to a low, intimate pitch. "You know, we get a lot of guys like you coming through here. Guys on the road. Wanderers. Right? I hear it can be...lonely."

Lonely. The word twisted at something deep inside him. And he knew this kid had no idea, and there was no way he was going to fall for some cheap line in a cheaper diner...(_And yet...)_

"I guess it's especially tough on older guys," Casey added sympathetically.

He blinked and opened his mouth, ready to point out that he was only thirty-four, and that was hardly _older_, but then he stopped. At most, he'd put Casey in his late twenties. And those six or seven years could seem like six or seven decades. Besides. These days, he felt a hundred years old. Should he really be so surprised if he looked it?

He looked down and busied himself stirring his coffee, before taking a sip. Tasted bitter and burned. He swallowed hard. "So, what's good to eat here?" he asked abruptly.

Casey smiled, and ran his tongue over his bottom lip with sly satisfaction. "Well, I got some special sausage you might be interested in. It's very long, and very thick, and made of one hundred percent pure pork."

In spite of everything, he found himself laughing. "Seriously? Does that line _ever_ work for you_?"_

"You'd be surprised," Casey said with a shrug. Then he grinned. "Besides. It's not a line if it's the truth." He stood up, stretching deliberately so his shirt sleeves rode up, exposing bronzed muscle. "And seriously, I would recommend the hot dog. Everything else here tastes like shit."

"Hot dog. Sure, why not," he said. "And a side of fries."

"Hot dog and fries coming right up," Casey said, giving him a wink. "Don't go anywhere."

Rusty was still grinning slightly as Casey walked away. His heart felt just a little bit lighter than it had in months.

He turned back and stared down at his coffee, absentmindedly grabbing another couple of packets of sugar in an attempt to try and make it drinkable. If Casey made love the way he made coffee, he really should stop considering this right now.

Not that he actually was considering it. This would be a mistake. He was tired, and he didn't have the time to waste. Besides, Casey really wasn't his type. Not exactly difficult to see that he was all about the confidence and the control, with just a little hint of the domineering and the aggressive. Rusty liked his sex to be about sex, not about power. (_And yet..._)

And yet. And yet the last time he'd had sex had been the night Tess had called, and that was more than eighteen months ago now. And yet he felt cold and...and _dulled..._all the time now, and surely anything that made him feel alive would be good. And yet he'd been having to stay on top of things for so long now, that for what was probably the first time in his life just lying back and letting someone else make the decisions, call the shots...it actually sounded good. He could let go, just for tonight. Let someone else take charge, and tomorrow, well, it wasn't like it would _matter._

With a sigh, he laid his head down on his hands. It wouldn't matter. He'd still be running, still be alone. He was so _tired _of it all.

"Here you go, cute thing," Casey said, dropping the plate in front of him with a bang and - ever so accidentally - stumbling forwards and pressing his crotch against Rusty's hip "Oops," he said with a complete lack of sincerity, and he lightly palmed Rusty's crotch as he pushed himself back up. "So sorry."

Subtle, he wasn't. And he knew that on other times, other occasions, all this would be more than enough to push him away. And yet...

Oh, well, what the hell.

He looked up at Casey and let the smile and the flirt shine on his face, and he could see by the way Casey's face suddenly froze, by the way his eyes widened, his mouth hanging open, that he hadn't lost a shred of his physical appeal. "Don't worry about it," he said softly, and he picked up the hotdog, gripping it delicately with both hands as he wrapped his lips around the end, closing his eyes in overt delight at the taste.

Casey stood and watched him eat, like he was rooted to the spot.

"When do you finish?" Rusty asked when he was finished, absently licking the ketchup off his fingers.

"An hour," Casey told him hoarsely, his eyes gleaming with desperate lust.

"An hour," he nodded, and he reached up and grabbed the pad out of Casey's apron. "This is my room number," he said, scribbling it down and tucking it back in the apron pocket. "Stop in and see me when you get off." He left a couple of bills lying on the table to cover the bill and stood up to leave. He could feel Casey's eyes lingering hungrily on him, oblivious to the other customers trying to attract his attention.

"An hour and that ass is mine," Casey promised in a low voice. "I'm gonna ride you so hard, you'll be feeling me every time you sit down for the rest of your life."

Uh huh. "Bring condoms," he said as a parting shot as he walked out the door.

He walked back across the parking lot to his room noticing with amusement the slight spring in his step. Least this was something _different. _And there were various parts of his brain telling him what a stupid idea this was, and a couple of the most disapproving ones sounded like Danny and Tess, but right now he didn't care. Too late to change his mind now, he told himself.

An hour. Time enough to shower, shave, put on a clean shirt and brush his teeth. Not much he could do to make the room look nice, but he didn't think that mattered. After all, Casey worked here. He'd have seen the inside of the rooms before, not to mention Rusty suspected that picking up customers in the diner was a regular thing for him. Well, right now he wasn't looking to be anything more than another notch on someone's bedpost. Long as he got something out of it too.

He lay down on the bed. The hour passed quickly. There was no sign of Casey.

Then he heard a muffled scream coming from the parking lot.

He was on his feet in an instant, cursing himself for having the light on. You'd think he'd know better by now. He tiptoed across the room and flattened himself against the wall, risking the quickest glance out the window. It might not be anything to do with him. It might not be...but it was.

Right in the darkest part of the parking lot, in a direct line between the diner and his room, he could see Amos and his compadres standing over a man kneeling on the ground. Amos had his gun against the man's head, and Rusty didn't have to see his face to know who it was.

Casey.

Damnit. Fuck, how could he be this stupid? Why would he ever take this kind of risk? He should have known better than to think he'd lost them. He should have been more careful, been more aware of his surroundings. They must have seen him talking to Casey and now...now he was going to have to do something.

Okay. He risked another look at the window. They weren't looking this way, but he'd have to move _now, _cos it was only going to be a matter of time before Casey told them exactly where he ducked down low, beneath the window and hurriedly made his way to the door. It hadn't squeaked when he came in, but still he opened it with his tongue between his teeth, wincing at every little noise. Once it was open wide enough, he squeezed through and crawled out into the parking lot, vanishing between the cars. He had to get closer.

Out in the open, he could hear them.

"I will ask you again," Amos said, sounding frustrated beyond reason. "Who are you?"

"C-Casey," Casey said, almost sobbing, and Rusty flinched at the naked terror in his voice. This was his fault. "Casey Devlin. I _told _you, I work in the diner, that's all."

"I see," Amos said, disbelievingly. "And the man you made contact with tonight, Vinnie...how do you know him?"

"Huh?" Casey gulped. "Made contact? I don't...I don't know what you mean? I don't know any Vinnie, I swear."

Amos clicked his tongue impatiently, and there was the sound of a punch connecting, and more broken sobs from Casey. "The man you were talking with tonight is a dangerous criminal. He passed you a note, and then he left. Where is the note? What was he asking you to do?"

"That's what this is about?" Casey hesitated. "I don't...I don't know anything about him. He's just some fag, passing through. He came on all hot and heavy over dinner...I was gonna let him suck my cock, that's all. I don't even know his name, you gotta believe me. I thought he was just some desperate queen."

There was the sound of incredulous, mocking laughter. Rusty closed his eyes. There was a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Amos demanded, still sounding amused. "The man we are looking for is a killer. Not a faggot like you."

He bit his tongue hard and didn't let the words touch him. Not something he could think about. He managed to sneak around the cars so he could see down to where they were standing. Didn't look good. The three of them all had guns in their hands, and Casey was between them. No way he could get close without being spotted while they were all there. No way he could do this without him and Casey both getting shot.

He dug his fingernails into his palms. They probably weren't planning on shooting Casey, he told himself fiercely. After all, leaving a trail of bodies across the country...it was bad for business. Dangerous. No, probably they'd just rough him up a bit until they were sure he'd told them everything and then let him go. And that meant it would be safer for both of them if he walked away right now.

He sighed; he already knew he couldn't do that.

Ridiculously, there was indignation on Casey's face as he looked up at Amos. "Hey, I'm no faggot," he protested. "I was going to be riding his ass, not the other way round. I don't know who you're looking for, but the guy in the diner today? Yeah, he was a total cockwhore. He was practically begging for it. Gave me his room number and everything I got it here, look."

A wave of hurt and disgust rushed through him at the smug certainty in Casey's voice. That was how he saw him. Suddenly, he felt sick.

"That's all I know, I swear it," Casey went on. "That's his room number. So...you can let me go, right?"

Amos was holding the paper, studying it carefully. With a nod, he passed it over to one of the others, and the two started jogging rapidly towards the room Rusty had just left.

"You're going to let me go?" Casey repeated hopefully as Amos carefully laid his gun down on the trunk of a nearby car.

"Not yet, little fag," Amos said gently, drawing his switchblade out of his pocket. "First, I've got to make sure that really is all you know."

This was the only chance he was going to get. He was on his feet immediately, moving as quickly and as quietly as he could, and all Amos' attention was on Casey, and Casey was screaming as the knife tore into his face, and there was blood everywhere, and then the gun was in Rusty's hand and he stepped forwards, grabbing Amos from behind and pressing the gun up hard against his throat. "Don't move," he advised softly.

He felt Amos tense against him, and for a moment he knew, Amos was thinking about struggling, trying to break free. And if he did, Rusty already knew he would have to pull the trigger.

Thankfully, Amos stilled. "Well, well," he drawled softly. "If it isn't the man himself. You know, Vinnie. Your little friend here has been telling me some very interesting stories."

He laughed shortly. "Friend? Is that what _you _call your one night stands?

"You admit it?" Amos snorted with laughter. "Oh, Vinnie, a faggot hit man? They should make a TV series out of you, my friend."

"I heard all the jokes before," he said indifferently, and that at least was probably true. "Waiter boy here just looked like he might be a good lay. He doesn't know jack shit."

There was a second as Amos mulled it over. Casey was still kneeling on the ground, obviously too afraid to move. There were tears in his eyes as he looked up at them. "I thought he was telling the truth," Amos mused. "He didn't seem smart enough to lie. But Vinnie, if he isn't important...why did you come back for him?"

Amos' two men came lumbering back and stopped a short distance away, seeing their boss standing with a gun under his chin. "Don't move," he warned them quickly, his mind racing. He couldn't exactly see a way out of this.

Actually, that wasn't true. He could see a way out of this. He could see a way out of all of this, and it was so very, very simple.

He laughed breathlessly. "You think this is about him?" he asked Amos lightly. "Oh, no. This is all about you and me. I'm getting tired of being chased across country." His finger tightened minutely on the trigger. "Thought I might as well put a stop to it while I had the chance."

Amos wasn't even breathing now.

The gun was heavy in his hand. This would be easy. He had Amos as a human shield right now. All he'd have to do is back up a bit, and he could shoot the other two as well, if he had to. He was so tired, and nothing had gone right for such a long time, and if he just did this he could walk away and never think of it again. Couldn't be worse than with John, after all. His fist clenched tight. He just wanted this to be _over._

The gunshot was almost deafening.

The car window exploded maybe a foot away from where they were standing, and he looked round instinctively, and that gave Amos all the time he needed to twist and plunge the knife deep into Rusty's side.

He reared up in agony, unable to stifle the scream, and the shotgun rang out again and he stumbled back, letting go of Amos and for a moment they stood there, facing each other and the gun was still in his hand and maybe, maybe...

At the third shot they scattered, diving for cover, and Rusty headed between the cars, keeping as low as he could, his hand clamped against his side and he could feel the blood pouring out between his fingers. This wasn't good. This really, really wasn't good. Briefly, he caught a glimpse of the motel owner, standing at the entranceway, shotgun in hand, and he was relieved to see Casey heading towards him. He should be safe now, he guessed. Now if only he could say the same for himself.

Another shot hit a car just in front of him and he swore. There was no way he was going to make it to his own car. Even if he did, he'd have to drive straight through Casey and the motel owner, and Amos and his goons were still out there, and even if he had Amos' gun, it was safe to assume they'd have others.

He found himself struggling to catch his breath. He had to think. He had to get the bleeding stopped, or at least slowed. Most of all, he had to get out of the range of the shooting, and he found himself at his motel room door. It had been left open and he stumbled inside and closed it over, leaning back against it and closing his eyes.

His hands worked almost automatically, tearing at his shirt and working it into a makeshift bandage, hauling his belt up and over it and pulling it tight. There. Should hold it for a while, and if he bled through it too fast, he was probably in too much trouble to worry about anyway.

Okay. What next?

The pain was making it hard to think. He squinted round the motel room desperately. No other door, and the only window faced over the parking lot. There was no other way out. Damnit, he shouldn't have let himself get trapped here.

He tilted his head against the door. Shouting. Another gunshot, far too close for comfort. If he walked out the door, he figured he'd get maybe five feet before someone shot him. It was a safe bet the police would be on their way, and no matter how he thought, he couldn't come up with a plan. There was a good chance he was going to end up in jail tonight. There was an even better chance he was going to die.

With a weary, deadened grin, he wished he'd shot Amos while he had the chance.

He leaned forwards, the gun still clutched tight in his hand. Danny. Tess. He wondered what they were doing right now. He wished he could see them again. Both of them together, preferably.

His phone rang unexpectedly and automatically he drew it out of his pocket and stared down at the number stupidly. Frank. Huh. He hesitated for a second, lightly biting on his lip. He could get Frank to pass on a message. Just in case. He could say _something._

(_He could actually talk to someone who knew him and liked him_.)

He was answering the phone before he'd actually made the decision.

"Hey, Frank," he said, trying to sound as normal as he could. "What's going on?"

"Rusty!" Frank sounded unaccountably delighted, and Rusty couldn't help the smile at the sound of his voice. "I was beginning to think you were never gonna pick up."

"Sorry," he said, risking a quick glance up and out the window, and he could see one of Amos' heavies taking shelter next to a car not thirty feet away, obviously getting into position to charge the door. "You kinda caught me in the middle of something."

"You want me to call back later?" Frank checked hesitantly.

"Nah," he said softly. "It's all good." Looked like the guy was still pinned down for the moment.

"I didn't just mean today," Frank added. "Seems like you never answer your phone these days."

"Been busy," he said briefly. "You know how it goes."

"Sure. But everything's alright, isn't it?" Frank sounded anxious, or at least as anxious as Frank ever got.

He was trapped in a motel room surrounded by armed men, he was losing blood and every time he moved he thought the pain might just make him pass out. "Everything's fine," he promised. "But I'm guessing you didn't call me just to check how I'm doing?"

"No," Frank agreed. "I got a call from Joe in Rome. He's looking for help with a job there. Needs a top class thief. I thought of you."

"I'm flattered," he said with a smile.

"But you're not interested," Frank stated.

He hesitated, thinking about it for a second. Imagining being far away from here, being out of Amos' reach, somewhere he could rest and relax and live. But he couldn't trust they wouldn't follow him, and worse, if they didn't, they might still go track down Tess. "Sorry," he said. "Don't think I can get away right now." He heard more shouting from outside and he sighed. Yeah. That was true in every way imaginable.

The heavy by the car suddenly looked back over his shoulder and shuffled back, obviously responding to some new order. Okay. They'd be coming for him soon enough. He had to move now.

"I gotta go, Frank. 's been good talking to you." The sincerity in his voice made him wince. Too much by far.

"Yeah. You too. Let's try get caught up soon, huh?" Frank suggested.

Sounded good. He rang off and stared at the door with new determination. There was a whole world out there that wasn't about running and working and trying to survive. He'd almost forgotten that. Now, if he could just get through tonight, he would figure out how to be a part of it again.

Moving as quickly as he could, he flung the door open and half staggered and half rolled out, heading straight for the nearest car. He heard gunshots, but he couldn't tell exactly where they were coming from. Close, that was all that mattered.

No time for finesse; he smashed the car window open with the butt of the gun, wrenched the door open and jumped inside, and he had the car hotwired and moving fast enough to make the Malloys jealous.

Amos and his guys were running towards him, already shooting, and he heard the bullets slam into the car, but he was driving straight across the parking lot, heading for the open road. As long as he kept going, he should be able to lose them, at least for the moment. There were blue lights and sirens coming closer; Amos was too smart to risk a high speed pursuit. No, right now they'd both be trying their best to vanish.

Casey was sheltering in the diner door, huddled and wretched and retching. As Rusty tore out of the parking lot, he met his eyes, just for a second.

There was nothing there but disgust and terror. He looked at Rusty like he was looking at a monster.

(_Maybe he was._)


	33. One month earlier

**A/N: Acknowledgement to InSilva for tiny detail from Under the Influence. Which is a fantastic fic btw. Even if she apparently doesn't remember writing it...**

* * *

><p><em>One month earlier<em>

Another cheap motel, and somehow Tess had caught up with him, and she'd smiled at him, kissed him, _forgiven _him, and for the first time in so long he felt clean. They lay in bed together, watching TV on the grainy screen, and the sound was down and they were doing the voices for all the cowboys themselves, and when he heard her laugh, it felt like he was home.

He wasn't alone anymore. He was _happy. _

He only stepped out for a moment. He'd just gone to the vending machine across the parking lot to get some cotton candy, but somehow, impossibly, when he got back John was there. John was there, huge and imposing and monstrous, and most of his face was still missing from where Rusty shot him, and his fingers were bloody and mangled, and he was like something out of a nightmare, and still Rusty couldn't spare him more than a glance.

Tess lay on the bed, her limbs twisted awkwardly, her eyes fixed and staring. Her neck had been snapped.

John was laughing and the gun was in Rusty's hand, and, screaming in anger and horror, he raised it and fired again and again and again, and John fell, just like he had before, only this time the blood poured out of him and didn't stop, until the room was flooded and it was all Rusty could taste, smell, feel, and Tess was sitting up now, Tess was alive and she was staring at him in horror, her eyes merciless and accusing, and John was dead and still laughing, and Casey's eyes were full of fear and disgust, and Danny wouldn't even _look_ at him, and he was alone, he was alone and -

He woke up, shaking and sweat-drenched. Sometime soon, the nightmares had to stop

Automatically, he looked round, and he didn't know if he was looking for Tess or Danny, but either way he was disappointed. He was alone. Of course he was. With a sigh, he scrubbed the back of his hand across his face, wiping away the hope right along with the fear.

It had been a year now, that he'd been running, but sometimes it felt much longer. Sometimes it felt like it had been a lifetime. And now, the finish line in sight, he knew he should be happy. Relieved, at the very least. But he just felt cold and numb and exhausted, and the only thing he was looking forward to once it was over was getting to sleep more than three nights in the same bed.

Whole other world, he reminded himself pointedly. Friends, and jobs that were for fun not just for the money, and actually taking the time to live - actually having a life to enjoy. (_Danny. Tess._) All that good shit. That was what he was trying to get back to. That was what mattered. One day soon he could leave all this behind like it was nothing more than a bad dream.

He'd finally got the money he'd need last month, but of course, that was only the start of it. Not like he could just walk up to Amos, pass over a briefcase full of bills and say "Here you go. No hard feelings, right?" No, the only way this ended was in death. And he'd already promised himself he wasn't going to kill them, so that meant his only option was to kill himself.

Had to look good. He'd already found a reporter and a mortuary technician open to taking bribes. Now he was just waiting on -

His phone rang. He raised an eyebrow and looked down at the display. Roman. Huh. He'd swear the man just had a sixth sense for when someone was talking - or thinking - about him.

This would be the first time he'd actually answered his phone in six months.

"Hi," he began, and predictably Roman cut over him at once.

"Rusty! Good to hear from you. I heard a rumour that you'd been abducted by aliens."

He raised an eyebrow. "Only for a few days. They decided I was more trouble than I was worth."

"Who can blame them?" Roman demanded rhetorically. "So! Enough chit chat, I've done what you asked and I'll courier them over to you just as soon as I get my money."

"Already wired to you, Roman," he said, hiding the sigh of relief. One more step taken care of.

There was a brief silence broken only by the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. "So it is," Roman said eventually. "You're paying me before the goods are ready?" He could hear the question in Roman's voice. Something out of the ordinary, and Roman didn't like anything out of the ordinary that he, personally, wasn't responsible for. _Especially _when it involved his money.

"I'm kinda in a hurry," he explained lightly.

"Mmm." There was another pause, and he had no idea if Roman was thinking about what he'd said, or wondering what to have for dinner. "You know I usually insist on dealing face to face."

"Yep," he agreed.

"And you said that wasn't an option this time," Roman went on.

"Nope." He hadn't wanted Roman - or anyone else - anywhere near him until he could be certain he wasn't being watched. Casey had taught him that lesson well.

"And this might just be the creepiest commission I've ever had, and you're talking to a man who's been asked to design holographic tentacles," Roman finished.

He smiled. "I'm sure I'm not worse than holographic tentacles," he said lightly.

"As the bishop said to the actress," Roman said absently. "Rusty, you know I make it a rule not to get involved in anything I'm not being paid for...but if you're in _trouble - _"

" - nothing I can't handle," he cut in. "Thanks to you. There's no one else I would have trusted to do this, Roman. No one else who could pull it off in the time."

"Don't flatter," Roman warned, but Rusty could hear the usual pleasure and pride at the praise, and the questions were turned aside. "I'll get this couriered to you right away. It'll be there in twenty four hours. Try and call me when you're done. Or else I'll assume you're dead and I'll have to drink to your memory. You wouldn't want me to waste the expensive stuff, right?"

"I'm worth the expensive stuff?" He grinned. "Now who's flattering. Thanks, Roman. I'll give you a call when I get the chance."

He hung up. Twenty four hours. That should be all the time he needed.

* * *

><p>He'd already located an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. It was long-empty and boarded up, and still he spent two hours trudging round it, checking carefully for any signs of recent habitation. But there was nothing, and he sighed, relieved.<p>

He was almost certain Amos wasn't in town yet, but it would only be a matter of time, and he used a credit card he knew they could trace to buy groceries in the nearest store. From past experience, it would take them about twenty four hours to get the report on the card and roll into town. No turning back now.

He paid cash for a can of gasoline and waited until late at night, before he carefully went round the house, pouring gasoline at every window and door.

The fire lit up the night's sky and he watched from the crowd as the firefighters worked to get it under control. Even disguised and with his hat pulled down over his face, this was a stupid risk, but he'd set the fire and he had to be absolutely certain that it hadn't hurt anyone. He grinned to himself; apparently even murderers had standards.

Seemed like the fire was of no particular interest to the firefighters once it was out, and they left the ruined shell open and unguarded for the neighbourhood to gawk at. Suited him just fine; it meant that it was very easy for him to come back the next day dressed as a bearded, bespectacled fire inspector and wander around, making notes and waiting for the curious to approach him.

This was the easiest part of all. With the promise of "Well, I really shouldn't be telling you this" and "You didn't hear this from me" he was able to spread the word that the fire was arson - which was true - that there'd been some suspicious activity there the day before - which wasn't - and that the rescue workers had taken a body out of the basement - which certainly wasn't. But he knew full well how this worked. By tonight, there would be at least one neighbour willing to swear he'd seen the body loaded into the back of the ambulance, and three who would say there had always been something a little funny about that house. Human nature. You had to love it.

Now all he had to do was find Amos and stay absolutely out of sight.

* * *

><p>Didn't take long to find them. They were staying in a hotel on the outskirts of town - nice but nondescript, Rusty would say. Certainly nicer than any of the places he'd been staying lately. He supposed that was the difference when you weren't obsessed with saving every penny.<p>

At any rate, the concierge was also very nice, and susceptible to both flirt and cash, and he handed over the bundle of specially-printed copies of the local paper he'd got made up and she promised to distribute them to all the guest rooms.

He smiled as he walked away. Right on the front page there was a story about the burned out house, clearly identifying the victim as Vinnie Craig. They'd chased that name often enough, they had to recognise it. But they'd want proof, and they'd want to know where the money was. The newspaper story would point them straight towards St Mary's General Hospital. That was his next stop.

First of all though, he picked up the package from Roman. He grimaced as he flicked through it. Okay. He could see why Roman found this creepy. Not every day you got to read your own autopsy report. The pictures were especially gruesome - he looked grey, naked and dead. This would convince them. Hell, it very nearly convinced _him._

And, best of all, there was the close-up photo of the key they'd supposedly retrieved from his gullet, clearly showing the name of the station and the locker number printed on it. That was pretty much as good as x marks the spot. He supposed, from their point of view, all this was some massive treasure hunt.

He closed the file with a decisive grin. This would do nicely. Now, all he had to do was hand it over to Tony, his contact in the morgue, and wait. This would all be over soon. He could hardly believe it.

Now, if it was him doing the looking, he'd leave the morgue until after dark, or at least after business hours. Less likely to be noticed that way, and certainly more likely to meet someone willing to earn a little cash under the table. That was how he'd found Tony, after all. He was almost certain that Amos would do the same; over the past year he'd come to accept that Amos was very good at finding people.

No, they'd probably go to the house first. Make enquiries of the neighbours, and search the rubble for any sign of a quarter of a million dollars. Which was just fine - that was all in hand, so he could stock up on snacks and take cover in an empty office opposite the morgue entrance with a pair of binoculars. All he had to do now was wait.

* * *

><p>Like he'd thought, it was after sunset before he saw Amos approaching the door. On his own, and that made sense - he wouldn't want to risk intimidating anyone to the point where the cops were called. He rang the buzzer and a second later, Tony answered. From this distance he had no chance of hearing what was said, but he amused himself trying to guess what story Amos was going with. Potential relative? Curious reporter? Didn't really matter in the end; Amos produced a thick wad of cash, and Rusty could have read the greed and interest in Tony's eyes from anywhere. Nothing like being paid twice for the same easy job, and Tony vanished out of sight for a moment and came back with the autopsy report.<p>

Amos seized on it eagerly, flicking through it, and he paused on the photographs, his finger tracing over them. Picking out the knife scars, Rusty guessed. Probably he'd guess that was real proof that this was really him, and not just a photoshop job. That was his hope, anyway. With an angry look, Amos slammed the file shut, and Rusty tensed. This was the real moment of truth; whether Amos was going to buy it or demand to see the body. He was only ever going to get one shot at this. If Amos didn't believe he was really dead, he'd just keep right on coming, and Rusty would never come close to convincing him a second time, unless Amos had put a bullet between his eyes himself.

The gun was a heavy weight in his coat pocket. His only plan B. But, eventually, after what seemed like hours, Amos turned away and walked off quickly. Rusty breathed a sigh of relief. That was it. He'd study the autopsy report in more detail later, and that would give him the locker key, and from there all he had to do was go the station and pick the money up. And that meant it was over. He was free.

The thought sent an unexpected burst of giddy laughter through him. Free. No more running. No more hiding. No more surviving day to day. He could do whatever he wanted, and he had absolutely _no idea _what he wanted.

(_He wanted to see Danny. He wanted to go find Tess. He wanted to feel safe and loved._)

* * *

><p>He stayed in the office far longer than was necessary to make sure Amos didn't see him, and then he drove, out of town, and as far as he could until he couldn't keep his eyes open one second longer. It was the next night, and he found himself in the best room in the most expensive hotel in town, and he ordered room service, and the steak was supposed to be medium, but it bled like it was dying, and the rich taste of the chocolate gateaux was a luxury he didn't deserve, and the warm comfort of the whisky was a risk he couldn't take, and later he lay awake on the silk sheets, staring at the door, jumping at every noise, alone and uncomfortable and still so ready to run.<p>

Alright. So maybe this was going to take a bit of getting used to.

There was a part of him that wanted to go and find Tess right away, to explain himself and tell her where he'd been this past year. It was tempting. But the thing was, she'd said she never wanted to see him again, and she hadn't called him. He had no reason to suppose she'd changed her mind, and he should respect that, shouldn't he? She had a right to make that decision for herself. Though maybe it wouldn't hurt just to make sure she was alright. That she was settled, happy...that she'd found a job and new friends and a nice place to stay. And maybe if she did see him...maybe if he could talk to her...maybe...

An image of John's dead staring eyes rose up in his mind. No matter what, he was still the man who'd done that. If she never wanted to see him again, he couldn't blame her. He was a murderer, and Tess deserved better.

Somehow, he could still smell the blood.

* * *

><p>After a couple of weeks of doing nothing, looking over his shoulder until he was absolutely certain that no one was watching him, he headed up to Atlantic City.<p>

Frank was surprised and pleased to see him, and he didn't even mention the phone call six months ago. He did look at Rusty carefully though, like he was searching for something different. Rusty just grinned and let him look. He hadn't changed.

He got caught up with the gossip - who was rich, who was poor, who was on a hot streak and who was soon to be unavailable. Saul had retired to Florida. Phil was dead. Josh had caught religion and was praying for everyone he'd ever met. Eric had been found naked with Gregg's wife, and word was they hadn't said a word to each other all through the Cartier job. What a way to end such a long friendship, Frank lamented. He felt the unintentional accusation like a knife to the chest.

Still, it was good spending time actually talking and relaxing, and Frank was happy to introduce him to a couple of legitimate poker games, and equally happy to help him run a couple of crooked ones. Nothing major, nothing complicated. After so long acting with a single purpose, it was nice to feel aimless for a while.

It didn't help with the chaos in his head though. He still woke up from the dreams of blood and gun smoke, not knowing where he was. And he could rely on Frank, but he couldn't lean on him, and all the people he wanted to lean on would deserve to know what he had done.

No, what he needed right now was some downtime and some easy money, and when Frank mentioned that a friend of his in LA was looking for a consultant to teach some movie stars some poker, he figured that was as good a direction as any. A few weeks, or a month doing that, and he thought he'd be ready to join the world again.

The work was ridiculous and boring, and he found it easy to make the simple connections, to be liked and trusted without revealing anything real. It was enough to restore equilibrium and gradually he started thinking that maybe he could go see Saul sometime soon, and then maybe he could see if he could drift into a real job, and then maybe he could go and check on Tess. Maybe.

And then one night he walked back into the game and Danny was sitting there, looking at Rusty like he'd never left. Like he belonged. And just like that, everything changed.


	34. The Benedict Job 15

**A/N: Been a while since I updated this. And for those who are wondering just how many chapters there are left anyway, I'd say...five? Possibly? Or maybe more. **

* * *

><p><em>The Benedict Job<em>

They headed back to the Bellagio in silence. Wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn't anywhere close to normal. All the open, raw emotion from earlier had bled away, leaving Rusty silent and cold and closed off. And Danny knew that was necessary, knew that right now they _both _had Tess as their number one priority, but he still hated seeing Rusty like that. There was too much he hadn't been there before. Too much he didn't know. Like he'd thought before, Rusty had learned to live without him. He just hadn't learned to live _well._

Out of necessity, they'd stopped at the first shop they saw and Rusty had grabbed a fresh t-shirt. Apparently he'd been wearing a wig and glasses when Terry had...when Terry's men had grabbed him. The hope was that the lack of them, and the change of clothes would be enough to let Rusty pass unnoticed. Danny had no doubt it would work; he knew how well Rusty could become someone else entirely.

(_Someone colder, darker, harder. Except that wasn't an act anymore, and Danny didn't know if there was any way back._)

No one so much as gave Rusty a second glance as they walked in, and that was good. Now all they had to do was head to the roof and find Tess and _fix _this.

Tess. She'd sounded so upset on the phone. Out of her mind with worry and grief, and it hadn't been for herself, even though something - Terry - had stopped her leaving like she'd planned. No,the only thing she'd been focused on was Rusty, and Rus' was hurt and he understood that, and he couldn't be jealous of that, he just _couldn't. _It was wrong.

With an effort, he pushed emotion aside. What mattered right now, was finding a way to get Tess out.

They stopped at the roof exit, and Rusty hesitated, rubbing at the bruises on his face. "She's going to - "

" - yeah," Danny said shortly. No emotion. He wasn't thinking about it.

Rusty sighed. "Alright. Let's go."

The moment the door opened, Tess was rushing over towards...not towards him.

"Rusty!" She practically threw herself into his arms, her hand reaching up so, so gently to cup his face, her fingers hovering anxiously over the bruises. "Oh, Rusty, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Rusty closed his eyes and Danny could see him relax under Tess' touch. He wasn't expecting the flicker of indefinable pain _(jealousy_) that followed. _"_I'm okay,"Rusty promised her, turning his head and planting a light kiss against her hand. "'s not as bad as it looks, Tess, really."

Danny felt like he was intruding. But he was damned if he was going anywhere.

"I saw," Tess told him. "Terry had a tape. He made me watch."

It was an awful thought. Danny knew how that felt, and he'd never had to imagine Tess on his side of it before. It was almost as wrong as imagining Tess herself hurt.

Rusty's hands tightened convulsively on her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't give anything away," she added, her voice shaking. "I pretended that you were Declan Marsh and that I didn't...that you don't matter to me. I think he believed me." She swallowed hard. "I think I'd know if he didn't."

There was a howling inside Danny's head at everything that could mean.

"And I made sure I wasn't followed this time," she added, gesturing over her shoulder awkwardly at a rucksack and an oversized hat. "I hid my face from the cameras. That...that would work, won't it?"

"Yes," Rusty nodded.

"You did good," Danny added, and she turned and smiled at him, unthinkingly warm. It took a second before the self-consciousness crossed her face and she stepped back out of Rusty's arms.

"Anyway," she said, clearing her throat and gazing straight at Rusty. "What were you _thinking_?"

Rusty sighed. "I knew that they'd have followed you to my room. I thought Terry might...get the wrong impression." He carefully didn't look at Danny, and Danny kept his face impassive. (_Was it the wrong impression?_) "I didn't know where you were going when you left, but I thought that if I could just give Terry a different story to believe, it might make things easier for you." His voice was soft and unapologetic.

"You knew he'd think we were together and you put yourself in a position where he'd target you," Tess said, her face unreadable, her eyes fixed on Rusty's. "Danny told me some of the things Terry's done. You - "

" - I knew," Rusty confirmed tersely.

Danny felt his heart lurch unpleasantly. Rusty had just...Tess had started speaking, and Rusty had just answered like he already knew what she was going to say. And neither of them looked surprised.

Tess nodded. "You fucking _idiot_," she said in a low voice.

They both stared.

"You swore," Danny said disbelievingly. In all the time he'd known her, he'd never heard her swear like that before. Bad language made her uncomfortable.

Her eyes flickered towards him. "That's what you're focusing on?" She looked back at Rusty, and her face crumpled, like she was doing her best to hold back tears. "I didn't want you to do that. I'd _never _want you to do that. I...I don't want you hurt. No matter what. Not ever."

Yeah. Danny knew how that felt. And he knew that no matter what she said, Rusty wouldn't change, and he knew _she _knew that too, and he could feel her pain and misery, and he wanted to step forwards and take her in his arms, and it hurt that he didn't know if she'd accept it.

"I know," Rusty said, his voice low and rough, and Danny realised with a dark shock of almost-amusement that he wanted to reach out to Rusty as well. He wanted to make all of this better, he just didn't know how. "But Tess, I don't want you hurt either. And if there's something I can do to stop it..." He shrugged. "'s the same thing I'd do for Danny."

She looked at him again, and he could read the question. All the questions. "In a heartbeat," he said hoarsely. Rusty would, and so would he. For her, for him...he wanted them safe.

She nodded again, her eyes dark, and she looked back to Rusty. "I...I understand now. When I saw him hurting you, I realised I'd do anything to make it stop," she said in a low voice. "I wished it was me instead. And if I'd had a gun I...I might have..." She broke off with a hoarse sob.

"I'm sorry," Rusty said ridiculously.

She laughed with soft hysteria "Idiot," she said again, and Rusty wasn't moving, and Danny couldn't stand it anymore and now he did walk forwards, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving her all the time in the world to tell him no.

She didn't. And she gave another quiet sob and reached up blindly so her hand covered his.

"I understand now," she said again, still looking at Rusty. "With John. Why you...why. And I can't approve, I _don't..._but I understand, and I'm sorry for everything I said. I should have...I don't know. It should have been different."

"I murdered him," Rusty said softly. "You loved him and I murdered him, and that's all on me, not you. You shouldn't have to forgive." That blank, dead look was back in his eyes, and Danny could hear what Rusty _wasn't _saying as clear as day. _I don't deserve your forgiveness._

With a shock, he realised Tess could hear it too. She reached out and grabbed Rusty's hand, and she didn't let go of Danny's, and they stood there for a moment, and Danny met Rusty's eyes over her shoulder and this was...

Strangely comfortable, Rusty agreed. Comforting. And in an odd sort of way, this was probably the most relaxed he'd been in four years.

"Okay," he said, clearing his throat. "So what are we going to do now?"

"I tried to walk out the front door, but Terry had his people watching for me," Tess said. She was still holding both their hands, and she didn't seem to have any intention of letting go. "They stopped me from leaving. I mean, they were nice enough about it, but they escorted me back upstairs and...I don't think I can leave. Not easily, anyway."

"We can get around that," Danny told her, ignoring his outrage at the idea of Tess being made a prisoner, to all intents and purposes, and focusing instead on ways out - disguises, and distractions...hell, he could have her picked up by helicopter, if it came to it. "I'll get you out of here."

She squeezed his hand in unthinking gratitude, but there was still something else..."He won't let me leave," she said slowly. "And if he won't let me leave...isn't there a chance he'll have me followed? I mean, J-_John, _found us, and I know that was mostly my fault, but he was looking before that. And Terry is..." She shrugged helplessly. "He has all this money and all these people working for him, and he doesn't like being told..." She stopped, and turned her head nervously, biting her lip. "He likes getting his own way." With a sudden motion, she stepped away from them, burying her face in her hands. "God, I make such a mess of everything."

"We'll protect you," Danny promised in a whisper, meeting Rusty's eyes, and it had never been so easy to speak for both of them.

But Tess was looking at Rusty too, her eyes on the bruises on his face. "And who's going to protect you? If he finds me with you..."

"So you leave the country," Rusty told her steadily. "Go to Europe somewhere, you and Danny, while I stay here, lay a few false trails until he gives up, and then I'll follow."

"No." He and Tess spoke at once, because that was an awful idea - he knew how much danger Rusty would be exposing himself to - but Rusty was looking straight at him, reminding him that they'd agreed Tess was most important, promising that he'd be careful, and maybe...maybe...

"Danny." Tess was looking up at him with mute appeal.

He took a deep breath. "No," he said again steadily.

"So we all run?" Tess suggested hopefully. "Rusty's right, it wouldn't be forever. He'd have to give up eventually."

Yes. But now he could think of a hundred ways that Terry could make Tess' life a misery in the meantime, and that wasn't even considering all the many, many ways he'd made her life a misery already. "No," he said slowly as the plan grew in his mind. "We run alright, but we make sure Terry isn't a problem first."

Two sharp intakes of breath told him he'd been misunderstood.

He smiled. "Oh, Terry isn't going to die," he assured them. "But it's like you said, Tess. Terry is a threat because he has all the money and resources he needs." The smile grew sharp. "So let's take them away.

Rusty looked at him steadily. "So what's the plan?"

"We already have a plan," Danny reminded him. "We have a plan that takes everything in the vault."

"Everything?" Tess' voice was disbelieving, but then she frowned a second later. "But that's insured. It's all insured. Terry will have it back almost immediately and then we're right back where we started."

"Unless we take away the insurance," Rusty said softly, still looking at Danny.

He nodded. "Unless we take away the insurance," he agreed. "Then, suddenly - "

" - he's out that money altogether," Rusty went on.

"He'll have to put all of his own money in to try and keep the casinos open," Danny added. "Try and get it back."

"Plus he'll be paying for some serious legal bills with his insurance company and the Nevada Gaming Commission," Rusty said.

Danny smiled and looked at Tess. "And that means - "

" - that means he's going to be busy and he's going to be vulnerable," Rusty explained.

"Vulnerable to someone who wants to take advantage of the situation," Danny said sharply.

"Someone who really doesn't like Terry."

"Someone who wants to take over his empire."

"Someone like Willy Bank?" Tess suggested, looking at each of them in turn, her eyes gleaming with anticipation and the chance of revenge.

Oh. That was surprising. He hadn't been expecting her to catch on like that. Hadn't been expecting her to _approve. _And he knew it wasn't for him, knew it wasn't even for her. He didn't look at Rusty. "Someone like Willy Bank," he agreed.

"So how do we get to the insurance information?" Tess asked.

Rusty shrugged. "I'm in place as his PA. With a little bit of forgery and deceit, I'm sure I can work something out. The real question is, how do we get you out?"

She swallowed. "I don't think you do. Not yet. I mean, the idea is that Terry's not going to be able to come looking after the theft, right? So if I disappear before then, won't that just make everything worse?"

That was what Danny's head was telling him. His heart had completely different feelings on the matter. "Maybe you can say you need to go stay with friends for a while?" he suggested. "A sick relative, or something."

Tess shook her head. "When we first started going out I was working in the Bellagio gallery," she said, suddenly finding the floor far more interesting than anything else. "Any time I had to take an out of town trip, Terry always sent someone with me. For security, he said."

"Oh, Tess." He squeezed her hand, trying to fight against the protective outrage and the helpless need for her. "I'm sorry." There was so much he was sorry for. So very, very much.

"Danny..." She leaned back against him, and for a second he could feel her warmth, and then it was gone. "It'll only be for a little while longer though, right?" she said bravely. "I can stay with him a little while longer."

"No," Rusty said sharply. "No, this isn't right. You _can't._"

She stepped away from Danny and reached up, lightly pressing her hand against Rusty's cheek. And again it felt like Danny was intruding, and this time he did look away, hating himself, hating... "I'll be fine," she whispered to Rusty softly. "I've survived for a year. I can manage a few more days. Aren't you the one who told me I was strong?"

Rusty didn't say anything. But Danny knew what he was feeling, because he was feeling it too. And she was strong, and she had survived so much worse, and he knew this was the..._safest..._option and he still hated it.

"I can talk to Willy Bank," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm sure Reuben can provide an introduction."

"Yeah," Rusty said dully. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. "You know, all of this does depend on the guys still being prepared to work with us."

After they'd lied, kept secrets, got personally involved and admitted to murder. Yeah. That could be a problem.

"We'll make this work," he promised with soft determination. "I swear it."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, please review<strong>


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